Shaded Spades
by BlkBrd13
Summary: If the potential possibility for something wrong to happen is there, Stephanie Plum will surely find it. Stalkers, explosions, gunshot wounds, and hospital visits- nothing is off limits. Cupcakes welcome, but it's a Babe story.
1. One Down

I'm being brave. Enjoy. Constructive feedback is appreciated mucho!

Disclaimer: You know none of this is mine, right?

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><p>There are moments of time in my life where I wonder if I am going to die. Between exploding cars worth more money than I'll make over the course of my entire career and death threats from psychos in love with the idea of my mutilated corpse on display at Stiva's Funeral Parlor, it's no wonder that thoughts of my demise cross my mind more frequently than not. I mean, one person can only survive escaping a burning building so many times before the cumulative smoke inhalation from all of those incidences results in some kind of asphyxiation.<p>

My name is Stephanie Plum, and most days of the week I'm a bond enforcement agent. Today, I am not. I am sick; I just regurgitated cheese doodles all over my kitchen sink… and I think I'm going to die. I might even hope it a little bit.

I am either going to die from seeing the neon orange contents of my stomach spilled and splattered at the bottom of my sink, a mess that I know my inattentive hamster, Rex, is not going to help clean up, or from this horrific flu bug that has been plaguing my system for two days now.

Mother Nature started ringing a bile fire alarm that roused me from sleep Sunday morning and has had me confined to my apartment ever since. After spending all day yesterday on the floor of my bathroom, praying to porcelain gods for absolution and spending last night wrapped in my comforter, trying to feed the fever that wracked my goose-pimpled body, I woke up feeling almost normal this morning. I had a cup of coffee with one cube of sugar instead of four, just in case. In turn, I decided to reward myself for not throwing up the coffee with five cheese doodles. Needless to say, my stomach is still wussy, my head is still pounding, and my spirits are still low.

But the tortuous illness isn't the only woe I've focused on the last two days; with all absence of responsibility revoked due to illness, I've been allotted many hours to moping over the vast vacancies of success in my life.

My boyfriend, now introduced with an "ex" prefix, Joe Morelli and I broke up last weekend. It started in a different way, but for much the same reason it always did. I had gone to Joe's house for the same purpose I do any other time: Pino's meatball subs, cheap beer, a boring baseball game, and a couple body-trembling orgasms.

We had started the foreplay early through the first half of the game with errant comments and teasing touches during commercials, when somehow the subject changed from _My boys miss you and I bet your girls miss me, too, Cupcake _to_ You're a lazy, fat loser, Stephanie Plum._

Okay. So, to be fair those weren't Joe's _exact_ words, per se. But it ended up there…. Sort of.

"_Do you think it's weird for me to say that Pino's is getting a little old?" he said as we lounged against each other, Morelli's floppy-eared dog, Bob, at our feet. _

"_I don't think that's possible."_

_Morelli sighed and I could tell that we were going to get into an argument about something. The Morelli Sigh; It was the prelude to every disagreement we'd ever had._

"_We get Pino's almost every time we're together, Stephanie." _

_And there it was. _Stephanie_. _

_I had gone from Cupcake to Stephanie in a matter of seconds. This was phase two of pre-arguing. Step three was my choosing to reply to anything he had to say with something that sounded like it would placate, even though we both knew it wouldn't._

"_Then maybe you don't need to be seeing me so often." _

"_Aren't I supposed to see the woman I'm dating as often as I see you?" He leaned away from me._

"_Not to the point of sickness, Joe!"_

"_I said I was sick of the food, not of you!" He stood over me._

"_You might as well have said that!" I stood to meet him, inches from his face. "And whose fault is it you eat Pino's every night? It's not like I force feed you!"_

_Morelli scoffed and crossed his arms._

"_What?" I shouted, allowing my Italian blood to fill me with as much hot, irrational anger that I was being faced with. "You _blame_ me?"_

_Morelli shrugged his shoulders and looked away from me. "It's not like you give us a whole lot of options, Steph."_

_The argument turned then to my unconventional lifestyle and commitment issues. Morelli wanted to know that I was safe at home, ironing his underwear, changing diapers, and giving him new options for dinner. And having grown up in the Burg where I saw this as the norm, I just wanted options _period_._

_Soon, I was sobbing in frustration and hurt, emotional exhaustion. _

"_What do you want from me, Morelli? How many times are we going to have this argument?"_

_Joe plopped down on the couch, as defeated as I was, swiping a hand over his face. "I love you, Steph. I want you to be able to tell me as easily as I do that you're in love with me. I want marry you and raise our children together, sooner rather than later. I want you safe… I just want this to work."_

_I nodded and crossed my arms over my chest, steading my breaths so I could speak. "But it isn't going to, is it?"_

_He looked at me long and hard before standing up and taking three slow steps to meet me. I felt myself relax into him._

_We stayed like that for a long time before I pulled back to look at his face, his eyes red and brimming with unshed tears his pride would not allow to fall. He dipped his head down and I tipped my chin up and somewhere in the middle our lips met in a hot, unhurried kiss, tongues dipping deeply and retreating in easy tandem. _

_Clothes were peeled off in quiet leisure and needy hands roamed aimlessly across familiar stretches of bare skin. Eventually, Joe lowered himself onto the couch and I straddled his hips, my long curly hair curtaining our faces from the rest of the world. We were lost in each other during our lovemaking. The fingers of my right hand tangled into the sweat-drenched locks at the base of his neck while my left hand splayed across the eagle tattoo centered on his firm chest. He fought for purchase along my slickened back and sides as I slid up and down his length in a slow, tenuous rhythm, our mouths gasping openly against one another, in-taking and expelling the same musky air. _

_I felt hot pressure building at my core, trembling in desire as Joe, too, began to quake beneath me. We were close._

_Our eyes caught and I felt tears chilling their way down my cheeks, a sight that I was stunned to find had been being mirrored in the face of my lover. They fell unrestrained, falling to our bodies, but not between._

_The burning stare between us was not broken until we were suddenly shuddering against our shared climax, violent pleasure quivering through our bodies. I couldn't help but cry out, and found similar sounds of desperate satisfaction pouring from his lips as well. _

_We leaned heavily against one another, panting into each other's necks as we waited for the residual shivers to calm. Eventually, when I thought I could stand without toppling over, I raised myself off of him, both of us sighing as he slid out of me. I leaned forward and brushed the damp curls from his forehead, planting a hard kiss against his sweat-soaked brow. _

_It was the final goodbye of a relationship we both wanted, but could never have had._

_I found irony in the fact that the last time we would ever be together was the first time we'd ever finished anything on the same fucking page._

I sighed deeply and shut the sink.

I loved Morelli; I think in some untouchable recess of my mind I always had. And I probably always would. But sometimes despite how much you want something, you aren't supposed to have it. In the end, Morelli had been a lot like birthday cake. I craved and indulged myself more often than I should have, and as a result I had a tiny pudge of tummy over the top of my jeans and a broken heart.

I made my way to the bathroom to shower off the barf cooties and to brush the acidic aftertaste from my tongue.

The water ran cool far too soon and while brushing my teeth I made a mental note to burn my toothbrush and invest 87 cents into a replacement.

I slipped on a pair of light blue boyshorts and an oversized tee shirt I'd recently commandeered from a tall, dark, and dangerous man with a lifestyle similar to that of Robin Hood, including the Merry Men but minus the green tights.

Ranger, my mind sighed.

If Morelli was birthday cake then Ranger was dark chocolate, 70% cocoa.

Ricardo Carlos Manoso, known as Ranger since dropping out of college and enrolling in the military, had also been a subject that my mind had allowed itself to obsess over the last few days.

See, Ranger started out as a mentor, whose gun I wanted to shoot and whose biceps out girthed my thighs. Then we had somehow become friends whom shared a palpable sexual tension that was only fueled by our steamy forbidden tongue wrestling competitions behind the bonds office.

And then what was supposed to only last one night, under pretense of a deal, we shared a bed as lovers. But then it happened again, and a couple more agains, almost every time Joe and I were on one of our common "breaks". It wasn't until a psycho delivered steaming bullets into his chest, that I realized I was sorely in love with him. And long before that realization, I knew that allotting him that much power over my emotions would only allow for a constant stream of pain and heartache to cascade into my world and drown me.

Ranger could be my mentor, and my friend, and my sometimes lover. But Ranger is the CEO of a top preforming security institution, with a broad definition of the word "security". He recruits top-notch men with concrete criminal records and of questionable sanity because he believes in second chances and in everyone's inner Army Ranger. He only pursues the highest bonds my boss and cousin, Vinnie, writes because he's the biggest, baddest bounty hunter in the whole damn state, probably the world. Ranger belongs to his job, to putting away the scum of the earth, and to protecting the innocent. He belongs to his men, any of which would gladly lay down their life in order to ensure he continues breathing. Ranger belongs to a whole slew of people, which is why he can never belong to me.

As of late, he's been MIA, saving the world… again. He has been gone for more than three weeks now. I haven't heard from him, and don't expect to until he returns. He hadn't stopped by before he left, but had called with his usual, "Babe, I have a plane to catch. Call Tank if you need anything" spiel.

And I hadn't needed anything that required merry man assistance or Batman resources, so I'd kept to a basic routine of bounty hunting, always stopping by the bond's office before making my way into the world to round up slippery Burg scum.

Well, until my immune system shut down and decided to let my body die a slow, painful, cheese doodle-free death.

I hadn't checked my phone since I'd called into work the day before and decided it was probably time to assure everyone that I was still alive.

I had eight missed calls and three voice messages. The first message was from my mother.

"Stephanie. This is your mother. Why didn't you answer your phone? Dinner is at 6 o'clock on Saturday. Your sister is bringing the girls and Albert. You should bring Joseph."

The second was from Vinnie's bond receptionist, Connie. "Hey, Steph. Wanted to see how you were feeling. Give me a call at the office if you're up to it."

The third was from my best friend, Lula, ex-ho, part-time filer for the bond's office and sometimes side-kick bounty hunter to yours truly. "Where have you been? Connie says you're sick. You better stay right on home if you're sick. Being around sickness gives me the runs. And how am I supposed to be filing papers when I got the runs? You stay home and sneeze all them germs out before you think about coming back to the office. If you need anything, like chicken or doughnuts or some of that cough syrup that makes you real sleepy, you can call Tank on account of he's my boyfriend and he works for Ranger, so he has to listen to two people who like you, and he can't get sick either on account of Merry Men can't get sick, or even the runs, I think. "

Tank is Ranger's second in command, currently first in command until Ranger's return, of the Rangeman of Trenton, the Merry Men. Tank and Lula have been steadily dating for five months now. By steadily dating, I mean Lula talks, Tank listens, and then they get down to dirty business.

The other five missed calls were from a number that I didn't recognize. I made an executive decision to postpone calls that I should have made and give in to my curiosity about the stranger number. Plus, I figured that since my brain was already pounding itself against my skull and my illness was causing me to have exceptionally ill-flavored thoughts, I should postpone any conversation with my mother about Joe or with Lula about "the runs".

I plopped on my bed and held the phone up to my ear while it rang. After a fourth ring the line connected, but no greeting was uttered.

"Hello?" I said into the receiver.

I heard nothing. No creepy breathing. No shuffling. Just silence.

"Hel-"

And there was an explosion.


	2. Two to Go

I am so overwhelmed by the positive response this story has received. Thank you so much to all of you who have decided to stick with me through chapter two, to all of you who added me to your alerts, and to every single one of you that took the time to review chapter one or send me a pm. It seriously means the world. And in all honesty, the great response was a significant influence in getting this chapter out so soon. Again, thank you all so much.

Disclaimer: I wish that I'd thought of this stuff.

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><p>I sat on the curb outside of my apartment building wrapped in my red plaid comforter, staring at the blackened, burning twists of metal that used to be my car.<p>

Someone had blown up my car… _again_.

Meaning I had made a new enemy with psychotic tendencies… _again_.

A Rangeman SUV arrived first on the scene, rolling to the side of the building as far away from the flames as they could have been with me still in sight. I hadn't called them; I didn't need to. Ranger keeps trackers on my vehicles. Anytime my little blip disappears from radar, it's easy to assume my car has been totaled. Needless to say, this isn't the first car that has met its maker under the care of Stephanie Plum.

Tank approached me flanked by Lester, Ranger's less serious and more sexually promiscuous cousin, both moving in a Stepford-soldier fashion, mirroring their movements as if they shared the same brain. Their faces carried the same serious expression that all Merry Men adorned in their Rangeman blacks, though a smile twinkled in Lester's eyes—he found this amusing.

Tank's massive form, which obviously denoted his name, stepped in front of me while Lester made his way to stand behind me. In most other circumstances, I would have complained about their overprotectiveness. Today, I was too busy focusing on not throwing up on their boots.

"Hey, guys," I greeted unenthusiastically.

Tank's head nodded once in greeting. Tank only uses words when absolutely necessary. He's intelligent and has his funny moments, and is even a generally good conversationalist. But it took me three years to figure all of that out. Tank's a quiet guy.

"Are you injured?" he asked.

I shook my head. "I was in my apartment when it exploded."

Before he could ask me anything else, I had to know:

"Have you spoken to him?" I asked, not having to specify who _he_ was.

I took his single nod as an affirmative.

"How is he?"

"Alive," he answered, which pretty much summed up everything that mattered in the world of superhero mercenaries.

A fire engine showed up next, with a team of five bushy firemen excited at the sight of hot flames and rolling plumes of black smoke. They made no move toward me, instead focusing on the task at hand; I'm sure Tank displayed copious amounts of assurance that I was being well taken care of.

A blue and white pulled up across from the fire engine and out from behind the wheel stepped Eddie Gazarra, with Big Dog angling out of the passenger's side, both donning wide, graceless grins.

I didn't have memories of a time before knowing Eddie; he'd been my best friend since I could remember. I loved seeing them because I knew that I wouldn't get any legal shit for having my car blown up. Plus, they wouldn't stare at Tank and Lester; they already knew who they were and why they were here. But I equally reviled their appearance because I knew the personal jokes and jabs were going to be grossly abundant.

"I think this is 20," Eddie said, strolling up to stand in front of me next to Tank, arms folded across his chest.

"I'm pretty sure it's only 19, Ed," Big Dog answered as he scribbled something down into a small notebook.

"Nope. It's 20. You're not counting Morelli's Cherokee."

"Does it count if it's not hers?"

"Weren't most of them Ranger's anyway?"

"What are we counting?" I asked. I had a feeling I already knew.

Carl answered. "Number of cars you've owned that ended up charred."

_Lovely_.

"Any idea who it was this time?" Big Dog asked, watching the firemen do their job.

I shook my head and rested my cheek on my knees.

"Hey. You okay, Steph?" Eddie asked, squatting down so that we were eye level.

I took a deep breath and could feel the gazes of the men around me, their ears perked, waiting for my affirmation. "Why does this always happen to me?" I sighed, directing my words at no one in particular.

My question was met with stunning silence. I raised my head and looked to the four men in front of me. I could practically hear their frantic, synchronized thoughts:_ Please don't cry. Please don't cry. Please don't cry._

"I'll be okay," I assured with a sigh, hoping that it wasn't a lie.

My stomach was pretending that it wanted to be fed again by the time Big Dog, Eddie, Tank, Lester, and the fire marshal, whose name was legitimately Red Marshall, were done listening to me regale the events just as they had happened.

"Where were you?" _Upstairs, in my apartment_.

"What were you doing?" _Not blowing my car up_.

"What alerted you to the fire?" _The flames and smoke_.

"Did you hear an explosion?" _Was that the big "boom" noise_?

"Did you see anyone at all? When you were looking out your window or when you came downstairs to the parking lot?" _I would have looked, but I was mostly distracted by my car being on fire. _

"Do you know of anyone harboring ill will against you?" _Have you let anyone out of jail lately?_

Red took off quickly, muttering that he would be in touch with Trenton PD with a diagnostics run of the fire's origin. Carl and Eddie each pulled me into their arms for a hug and dropped smiling kisses on to my cheek before heading off to patrol the wicked streets of the Burg… or to tell Morelli that I was A-Okay.

Tank and Lester hung back until the scene was cleared before approaching me again.

Tank steeled himself to speak. Normally, he and Ranger were partnered, making him B-string of the duo and not required to take any initiative to verbalize. And even though Ranger was a man of quiet communications, he was equally well at expressing himself in words. Tank was less comfortable in verbal situations.

"Would you like me to leave a team outside of your building?"

My eyebrows shot clear to my hairline. "I get a choice?"

Lester chuckled lightly and Tank smiled.

_Of course I didn't._

"It was nice of you to ask, anyway," I ground out, crossing my arms over my chest like a child.

"I would like to reiterate that all Rangeman resources are at your immediate disposal at any time should you need our search engines, a car, or somewhere safe to sleep."

I nodded.

"Call if you need anything. I'll brief the first shift in ten."

Layman's terms: _We'll be leaving in ten minutes and someone else will be here. _

Good to know.

"I'm sort of sick, so maybe let them know I'll probably be up and down all night."

He nodded. "Should I have them obtain anything on their way here that might grant you more comfort?"

I mulled that over and then shook my head. There were a lot of things I needed, but I really didn't want them to go to the trouble.

Tank gave another nod.

With a small, hardly noticeable smile that someone who didn't know him would have missed, he turned and walked towards the SUV.

Lester led me up to my apartment and did a run-through to ensure that no lunatic pyromaniacs were hiding under my bed.

"Thanks, Les."

I plopped myself onto the couch and curled into a ball on my side.

"Anytime, Beautiful. Go take a hot shower. Call if you need anything."

_Great. Lester thinks I smell bad. _

I heard the door shut and the locks tumble into place. I decided that resting was a good idea before I took a shower, considering everything sucked and I felt like if I got up I'd just fall back down anyway.

I heard a noise behind me and sat up quickly, throwing my gaze to the kitchen table.

A familiar figure sat stoically, smiling at me with a grin wider than I'd ever seen from him. His onyx eyes crinkled at the corners and love poured out from his stare, making my stomach drop to the bottom of my feet.

"_Ranger_?" My voice was strange, strangled. Almost as if it wasn't my own.

Suddenly, his gaze shifted over my shoulder, his smile falling. His bright face turned dark instantly and if the look had been intended to me, I would have been terrified.

As it was, I turned, following his eyes, and found myself face to face with Edward Scrog, the man that had shot Ranger point blank when he'd come to rescue me and his daughter, Julie, from having been kidnapped; the man who had framed Ranger, took his identity and ran amuck with it. This man had tried to ruin the life and reputation of the man I loved.

And then he'd tried to end him.

I felt all of the air leave my lungs and I struggled to gain purchase of the situation, my heart stuttering in absolute terror. I told my feet to move back, away, towards Ranger, towards my kitchen with the cookie jar harboring a gun that I knew was not loaded and in effect, useless.

But I was frozen, completely immobilized by my fear.

Scrog raised his gun and pointed it directly at my chest, his face emotionless as he fired off two loud shots that rang and echoed through my head. I looked down and saw that my shirt was wet with blood.

I turned around to find Ranger suddenly standing behind me just a few inches away, staring at me like there was something he wanted to tell me, something so pressing that it couldn't wait until after the homicidal maniac with a gun was taken care of.

Something was wrong with him; something was _so_ wrong.

I did the only thing I could think to do.

I had to protect him.

I _had_ to.

I reached around Ranger and pulled the Glock from the waistband of his cargoes, twisting back to Scrog. I didn't hesitate as my eyes immediately slammed shut as my finger clicked through eight hard rounds.

My eyes opened slowly.

The scene before me caused me to stumble back in horror.

Ranger stood in front of me with eight holes in his perfect chest, each of them black and seeping deep crimson. His shirt was soaked through and scarlet droplets began puddling onto the floor.

"Sorry, Babe," he said, falling to the ground with a sickening thud.

I let out a loud, bloodcurdling wail that pierced through my slumber and wracked my body into consciousness. I tumbled off the couch and onto the floor, hugging my knees and pressing my face into the rug. There was no controlling myself as another cry escaped my lips, tears pouring down my face.

_It was only a dream, Stephanie. _

_Why the fuck are you making so much noise? _

_Be quiet. _

_Just a dream. _

_He's alive. _

_You didn't kill him. _

_Scrog didn't kill him. _

_Everything is just fine. _

_Just a dream. _

_Calm down. _

_Just a dream. _

_Just a dream._

"It was just a dream," I whispered in attempt to rouse myself from the terror.

I doubled over, unable to stop as my body heaved water and stomach acid onto my throw rug. I heard a crash and looked up to see Bobby and Hal, faces all business and guns drawn low.

My tears renewed themselves in earnest and my stomach convulsed grossly with dry surges.

"Ss-s-sor-rry… So-oh sor-ruhhuh-yy."

I drooled and trembled and cried as my body leaned forward and heaved through another empty lurch.

I heard quick footsteps out the door and then felt strong arms wrap gently across my torso and up under my knees so that I was being carried carefully with my back against a hard chest.

Before I could force words of protest through the curtain of hysteria, my shower was on and I was deposited into my tub fully clothed.

"H-h-hey-y-y!" I trembled, not sounding threatening at all.

I would have moved, tried to escape, but my muscles weren't listening to my brain.

"Bobby said we need to bring your fever down," Hal said, adjusting the knobs on the shower.

I sat under the water for a few moments, expecting it to get warmer, but it just kept getting colder and colder until my teeth were chattering and my body was shaking with shivers.

"T-t-too c-cco-old."

"It's only lukewarm, Steph," Bobby said as he shoved through the doorway, a med pack thrown over his shoulder. "It feels colder because your temperature is so high."

Hal moved out of the bathroom; there was hardly room enough for one Merry Man, let alone two.

"When was the last time you had anything to eat?" Bobby asked as he calmly shuffled through his bag.

His voice sounded strangely far away, as if he were speaking to me through a tunnel.

"Stephanie?"

_What was the question?_

"I need you to open your eyes, Stephanie."

_But I'm so tired, Ranger… Bobby, I'm so tired._

I felt myself swaying, swaying, swaying...

I leaned forward, corrected, leaned back, corrected, then leaned forward until arms caught me and hauled me out of from under the freezing spray.

"Call the infirmary and let Vance know we're on our way. Tell him to be prepared to run diagnostics and to start a saline drip. She's dehydrated and we need to break this fever STAT."

_Bobby, I'm fine. Really. It's just a stomach bug. Just need to sleep it off. Sleep…_

"Stephanie, we're taking you to Haywood."

_Haywood? I like Haywood. Haywood is safe. Haywood is Rangeman. Rangeman is safe. _

_I'm so tired, Rangeman. So tired… _

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><p>It's not my favorite chapter, but they're all going to feel like fillers for a while. Stick around. :)<p> 


	3. Three to Get Choosy

I figured that in honor of opening weekend for _One for the Money_, I'd post an update for all of you lovely ladies. And really, I hate to be one of those authors who constantly gushes over all the reviews you've been leaving me, but I am so totally overwhelmed with the kindness that I must mention it again. Thanks so much. Hope you enjoy this one. On a sidenote: For some reason my PM keeps disabling itself. I'm not sure why. I re-enable it anytime I notice. If you have problems reaching me, know that the issue should be rendered within a day or so. :)

Disclaimer: If this was mine, I wouldn't be a poor college student.

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><p>My head was throbbing as if someone had been repeatedly hitting me over the head with a honey glazed ham. My mouth tasted like I'd been sucking on pennies and the room smelled like antiseptics.<p>

I opened my eyes against bright light, trying to figure out where the hell I was. My pupils dilated against the harsh fluorescents above me. The room was large, maybe the size of my living room, with pale blue walls and white marble floors that looked as if they were scrubbed daily with a toothbrush. A long, navy blue couch rested against the wall to my right and a mahogany end table rested in the corner, a small lamp centered upon it.

I was lying in a large bed, propped up so that I was at about a 45 degree angle. The sheets were smooth and inviting, matching the walls in a lighter shade of blue.

Behind and beside me were a series of monitors, sporting a system of wires that ultimately were connected to me.

I noted the bags of liquid and looked down to find the tubes connected to my IV. My left arm was sore where the needle dug under my skin and when I moved my right arm to touch it, I felt a similar soreness at the bend, where there were several black and blue marks staining my skin.

I reached up to pull the clear mask covering my nose and mouth, connected to a large tank next to the bed but found that it was taped to my face.

"Sleeping Beauty awakens. How are you feeling, Ms. Plum?"

I looked to the doorway and found a very tall, broad-shouldered man filling the space. He was dressed in black slacks and a black button-up shirt. Shiny Doc Martins were on his feet, a silver pen glinted from his shirt pocket. His eyes were framed with black, plastic-rimmed glasses and he looked like a model from the posters they hang in eyeglass stores.

He was reviewing paperwork on a clip board, flipping pages over one another, biting the inside of his cheek.

His skin was a creamy mocha brown, his hair black and trimmed short. He smiled, accentuating his dimples and crinkling the corners of his eyes.

If it weren't for the smile, glasses, and openly friendly disposition, I'd say he looked exactly like someone Ranger would hire.

"Ms. Plum?"

"Who are you?" I asked, though my voice came out only as a whisper, which was further muffled by the mask.

His smile appeared again and he strolled towards me, adjusting knobs on the tank.

"My name is Vance Vincent. I've been assisting in your recovery since Bobby brought you in."

I looked around again. As much as it looked like a hospital… it didn't look like a hospital.

"You're in the infirmary at Haywood," he said, either noting the expression on my face or reading my mind. I was at Rangeman and everyone knows that all Merry Men are equipped with ESP.

"Where's-"

He held up a hand to stop me from speaking, before gently peeling the mask from my face. He turned towards a mahogany chest next to the door and pried open one of the doors, revealing a small, refrigerator-type compartment. He removed a bottle of water and twisted the cap, breaking the seal before offering it to me.

"I don't suppose your throat feels too good right now."

I took the bottle and swallowed a heavy gulp, relishing the cool wetness of it as it slid down my throat and comforted the dry burning.

"Not too much, now."

I stopped after sucking down half of the bottle.

I didn't notice until this moment that I was dressed in an oversized black tee shirt that for all I knew was Ranger's. No bra. I hoped I was wearing underwear, but it didn't feel like it. I squirmed, suddenly even more uncomfortable with this stranger than I had been originally.

"Where is Bobby?" I asked, crossing my right arm over my body, trying to mind the soreness and hide my suddenly very naked-feeling chest at the same time.

"He went up to his apartment for some rest. He's been diligent in your diagnosis and recovery. Boss had to threaten him with tranquilizers before he finally agreed to head upstairs for some shut eye." He looked down at his clip board again and made some notes based on the monitors behind me.

"_Boss_?"

"Got in late last night. I was surprised that he came by here before heading up the seven. Report said he'd been up since Tuesday. Spent probably three hours on that couch over there." He motioned to the couch against the wall.

_Tuesday_?

"How long have I been here?" I asked, looking around the room again.

Vance clicked his shiny pen and dropped it into his pocket. "Approximately 72 hours."

I did the mental math and then again just to be sure.

"_Three_ days?"

"And some change." Again with the smiling.

"I looked at the monitors and then back at Vance. "I'm feeling fine, now. Any chance you could unplug me?"

He looked again at the papers, flipping. "I'll have to remove your catheter and get you up and walking around a little bit, and I'll have Ella bring you something to eat from upstairs. We still need to have you monitored for a few hours while you're awake."

I nodded in understanding, rather than agreement. No way was I letting some strange man reach under my tee-shirt and find out whether or not I was wearing underwear, _especially_ before I did. I didn't care who he worked for.

"Maybe I could have something for my headache first? My head is pounding."

"Of course," he smiled. "I'll be right back. Is there anything else I can get for you?"

I shook my head. "No thanks."

With that he turned and glided out of the room and as soon as he was out of sight, I reached for the black phone mounted to the wall behind my head.

He picked up after the second ring.

"Yo."

I trembled and felt my heart contract as heat crept through my lower abdomen. I knew that I missed him but hadn't realized how much until this moment. Just the sound of his voice had my body responding.

"Yo yourself, Batman." My breath quaked and I hoped that fact didn't carry through.

"Babe." The word came out with a sigh.

And God, how I'd missed that word.

_Babe_.

It was a nickname, a term of endearment, an admission, an admonishment, a story, the essence of a story, an argument. With that one word, Ranger summed up everything he was trying to convey to me, all the while masking it. That word, Ranger's nickname for me, held a similar likeness to Ranger himself. He was everything in all of its intricate complexities, even though he tried very hard to appear simple.

"Some guy named Vance wants to see if I'm wearing underwear."

I heard shuffling at the other end of the phone. "Are you?"

_Playful Ranger? _

Playful Ranger hardly ever made an appearance and I thought that it was a weird time considering I was calling him from the infirmary and he'd only been home for a few hours. I'd have to file this away for later musings.

"This isn't funny."

"Do you hear me laughing?"

I didn't say anything. How often did I ever hear Ranger laughing when something _was_ funny?

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice deep and soothing.

"I don't want Vance to take out my catheter. I don't know him and he smiles a lot. I didn't think you hired people that had the ability to smile that much."

"Vance hooked it up. He's legitimate, Babe."

I crossed my chest, feeling violated.

"Yeah, but I didn't know it then. Now I'm awake to complain about who's, you know, down _there_..."

"Bobby?"

Bobby. Hm. That would be equally weird. That means Bobby would have to get personal with my private zone. I was only comfortable with one man in black touching my no-no area.

"I don't want Bobby to do it."

"So you don't want someone you know doing it, and you don't want someone you don't know doing it."

That sounded about right.

"It's weird."

"Babe."

I sighed.

"I'll see what I can do," he said.

The line went dead.

_So much for catching up._

"Jerk," I muttered, turning around to hang the phone back up on its holster.

"That's not very nice."

The phone fell from my hand and clattered to the floor as I whipped my head to the doorway.

And there he stood in all of his Cuban perfection; Black tee shirt, black cargoes, black work boots, all concealing the majority of his mostly perfect tea-colored skin, which covered totally flawless ridges and planes of hard muscle. His dark hair was grown out longer than the last time I'd seen him; he'd started growing it back out since he'd chopped it off.

I internally cowered, remembering why he'd had to cut it. He'd been under cover, hiding, trying to prove his innocence for a crime that the man who'd shot him in my living room had framed him for.

I jerked, my intention being to jump from the bed and hold him against me. But my IV caught in my arm, causing me to gasp out in pain.

"Babe," he breathed, stalking towards me and pushing me back against the bed. "Relax."

"I'm in the hospital, my car exploded again, you just got back from blowing around in the wind for almost a month, and you want me to relax?"

"You aren't in the hospital," he said, the idea of a smile playing at his lips.

"Same difference."

His hand moved to the back of my head and he leaned forward, dropping a heavy kiss on my crown. He exuded calm and tranquility and I was instantly at ease, turning my head towards his body and expelling a deep, cleansing breath against his collar.

"Missed you, Babe," he whispered.

I leaned forward and grabbed his free hand, pulling it to my lips and brushing a kiss across his knuckles. "Me, too."

He leaned back to look me in the eyes. We stared at each other for a long time; I wondered if he was reading my mind. It was as if he were looking right through me, understanding everything about me in that instant. I wished his blank face would fall and let me see behind the high walls he kept so firmly guarded.

"You're okay?" I asked.

After being gone for weeks or months at a time, Ranger would return to Trenton and immediately find his way to me, no matter the time, day or night. He'd let himself into my apartment and sit with me while I rambled on about Joe, or a skip that I was having trouble with, or about my family. Just listening quietly, watching me bustle about. If I was out, he'd follow my tracker and find me staking out a skip in my car, or eating a dozen donuts at the bonds office with Lula and Connie. Once, he'd managed to crash dinner at my parent's house. But if he'd gotten in late, which he did more often than not, I'd be asleep and he'd creep into my bedroom and lounge in the chair posed in the corner of the room. I rarely awoke while he was there, but if I did, I would always invite him to lie beside me, let me wrap myself around him and comfort away the new demons he'd discovered while he was off saving the world again. He never would, telling me to "Go back to sleep, Babe." Most nightly visits I slept soundly unaware of his presence, but would always awaken the next morning feeling the impression of his energy in the room, knowing that he'd spent time watching me sleep, just to be near me.

He nodded at my answer and I wondered if he was lying. It's not like I'd ever know.

"Where were you this time?"

"Alaska."

"Alaska?" _What is there for mercenaries to save in Alaska? Ice?_

He nodded again. "Had to disassemble some illegal drilling operations."

_Way to be even more epically heroic than you were ten seconds ago…_

"I hear you've had an interesting week," he said, his eyes scanning over me, assessing.

"My car blew up," I pouted against my jutting lip. "And I got the flu."

His stony face was in place. "Tank set a team up to figure out about your car. They have no leads, no information. Anything you might have left out in the police report that you wanted to tell us about?"

I shook my head. "No, I'm as surprised as anyone else this time. I don't even have a 'maybe' suspect."

He nodded.

Footsteps tapped into the room and immediately halted past the threshold. Ranger turned and I peered around him to see a nervously surprised Vance, a small paper cup in each hand.

"Welcome home, sir."

Ranger nodded his head once in response.

Vance turned his attention to me. "Ms. Plum?" He raised the cups, "This should help with the pain."

"Pain, Babe?"

"Just a headache."

"Her chart?" Ranger asked, taking the cups from Vance and handing them to me.

"Of course, of course." He shuffled through the doorway and was back seconds later.

"Status?" Ranger asked as he flipped through the papers on the clipboard much the same as Vance had done.

Vance took a deep breath. "Last reads were at 0600. Oxygen saturation is restored to 96%. BP 90 over 60. Resting heart rate is 65 BPM. She's been given Acetaminophen, Atarax for nausea, and a mild Benzodiazepine for the headache and oxygen saturation. We'll need to bring her BP up a little bit; Bobby isn't comfortable with where it's at."

"Diagnostics?" Ranger asked, handing the clip board back to Vance. "Take your pills, Babe," he ordered, angling his body in my direction.

"What ever happened to doctor-patient confidentiality? HIPPA should be all over this place," I protested.

Ranger's lips twitched, as if he were considering smiling. "Rangeman is under no obligation to comply with HIPPA; we're not exactly recognized as a healthcare facility. Secondly, your doctors all work for me and will happily relay to me any information I ask of them. They're paid very well to. And lastly," he leaned closer to my face, speaking lowly, enticingly, "If you don't want me involved, all you ever have to do is say so and I'll gladly give you your privacy."

I was taken aback, and amused, and a little bit turned on.

Instead of answering, I shot back the cup of pills and chased them with water.

"Should I continue?" Vance asked, eyes flickering between me and Ranger.

I crossed my arms across my chest and dropped one hard, petulant nod before he continued.

"We're a bust for any concrete diagnosis. Lab results for the tox-screen were contaminated; we're not sure yet as to when that would have occurred. We resubmitted samples yesterday afternoon. Bobby has the fax going directly to his office and apartment and we expect word within the next few hours.

"I want results forwarded to my office as well."

"Yes, sir," Vance said before turning to address me more directly. "Ms. Plum, we are going to try avoiding administering medications that might help raise your blood pressure. We'd like to get you up and walking around instead, in which case-"

"I'll have her discharge taken care of personally," Ranger interrupted.

"With all due respect, sir, she isn't ready to be discharged. In my professional opinion, she needs round the clock monitoring until we can figure out what caused her system to shut down."

"Your services pertaining to the rehabilitation of Ms. Plum are no longer necessary. You've had a long shift; go home and get some rest, Vincent."

"Understood, sir," he told Ranger. Then he motioned to me, "An efficient recovery, Ms. Plum."

And then we were alone, staring at one another.

"I'll have Ella's sister come in to help unhook you from all of this; I figured you'd be more comfortable with a woman." His words didn't match the expression on his face; it was one I'd never seen before and I was trying, and failing, to decipher it.

"Ella has a sister?"

He nodded almost imperceptibly. "Esmeralda. She works neonatal at the hospital."

"Thank you."

Ranger made no indication he'd heard me. Slowly, he started stalking towards me, as if he were approaching a timid animal.

"You know," I started, my voice breaking as I struggled to gain some control over myself. "I hate it when you take off without dropping by to see me beforehand. Not that I'm entitled to some special visit or anything, but…" His hands were poised on either side of my body as he leaned in, bending his face towards mine. "But… uhm… I don't…"

"Hm?"

"I don't… what did I say?"

A broad, white smile flashed across his mouth for just a few seconds before the strange expression returned. It was an expression like everything he was thinking was covered in sugar and set on fire; sweet, hot, sexy. But that still wasn't right; this face, in place of the blankness I was so accustomed to reading, was completely foreign.

"Missed you, Babe," he whispered, his lips slowly grazing along my own.

"You already said that," I smiled against his mouth.

He smiled back. "I know."

"Are you going to kiss me?" I asked, breathy, begging, hoping he would concede.

His smile broadened and he moved up, slamming his soft lips into my forehead.

"I have a meeting in twenty minutes," he said, pulling back slightly. I increased the pressure of my hand on his arm, stopping him from pulling back. "You are welcome to go upstairs and rest after Esmeralda gets you situated. I can take you home this afternoon."

My eyes fluttered, adjusting my train of thought. "Someone else could, I'm sure. I mean, it's your first day back and I'm sure you have a lot-"

He kissed my head again, before lifting away from me and strolling towards the door. "Priorities, Babe. I'll take you home."

And then he was gone.

_Priorities? You mean, like your multimillion dollar company that you've been away from for three weeks? Right._

It was another one of those things I tucked away for later.

* * *

><p>Esmeralda was one of the most stunning women I'd ever seen, with all the power of her older sister and all the beauty of Penelope Cruz firmly structured into a 5'0" frame. Her thick coffee hair was pulled back into a low pony tail that ran down her back between her shoulder blades, its sheen glancing off the light as she moved. She was a petite woman, delicate at first glance, with perfect mocha latte skin wrapped around her. But the power of her smooth voice and the fire in her deep Latina eyes spoke volumes of her strength.<p>

When I grew up, I wanted to be just like her.

"So, _you_ are Estefania Plum." she greeted, her English slurring slightly under her thick accent.

Ranger had explained earlier about the difference in speech between Esmeralda and Ella. Apparently, Esmeralda was a young child, already imbedded in Cuban cultures and fluent in Spanish before English; Ella was born here and attended school where she learned English very shortly after her family had raised her among their Spanish-speaking selves. Esmeralda did not learn English fluently until much later.

The small woman was bustling around the room, moving things, washing her hands again and again, intermittently stopping to unhook me from something.

"Uh, yep. The one and only."

"My sister, she tells me of you work with our Ranger, too. You like these men here?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I have a lot of really good friends at Rangeman."

"Very good-looking and strong. Strong hearts, these men around Ella, around you. Louis is a fine man for my sister, but I do not know if I could remain married among so many of these Rangemen." She paused in her speech, reaching underneath the blanket draped across my thighs. "You have want for Ranger, yes? I hear many stories from my sister of this vivacious Estefania Plum who blows up many cars and finds her way to the heart of the lonely Manoso boy."

_Ranger: the thirty-three-year-old boy._

"I never blow up my cars; other people do that. I only blew up a funeral home once, and that was completely by accident."

"Take a deep breath in and exhale slowly. You have Ranger, though, yes? He is a fine man. He has a deep heart, a good heart."

"Yes, he does. He is a very good man."

"And he has a good woman in you. This I can tell," she said, dropping the sheet and reaching for something before returning between my legs.

"No. He is just a very good friend."

She chuckled lightly. "Ranger does not take any women friends, Estephania."

"I got lucky," I said, smiling a little.

"You are his woman. Even if you are not, you are." She stood up, carrying things to a biohazard trashcan and dropping them in.

"It's not really like that," I told her, wondering if I was lying.

She made her way to the sink and turned the hot water on full blast, scrubbing her hands violently under the stream.

"There is no other way for it to be."

"Are you married?" I asked, hoping to take the conversation in a different direction.

She rang a paper towel around each of her fingers. "Oh, no, no. I loved one man a long time ago. Very good man. Like your Ranger. A doctor, always trying to fix everybody, every broken person."

"What happened?" I asked, because obviously something had.

Esmeralda sighed and released a small, sad smile. "We were not going to marry, we decided. It seemed like a silly formality. Separate monies, separate names. This was working, yes? For six years this works. No reason for changing working things. We decide that babies can wait, that they will come in time for us. We were very happy, very in love."

I smiled, encouraging her to continue. She started peeling the tape from around my IV.

"Ramon. He was a good man. Fixed everybody except himself. A fine man, blinded by his own goodness. He stopped at a gas station on the way home one night and walked in on a robbery, tried talking the boy down, reasoning. Nothing. The boy gets scared and shoots my husband in the leg, runs off. He could have saved himself if he'd been thinking about not dying. Instead, he saves the gas attendant, keeps him from bleeding out. Too good a man to live for too long."

"I'm so sorry," I say lamely.

"I am not," she smiles wanly. "I love a good man for a good time and we were good. I am not sorry."

"But… he's gone."

She huffed a laugh. "You have loved before Ranger?" she asked.

I nodded once slowly, not qualifying her assumptions about my feelings for Ranger.

"And he was a good man?"

"He was," I answered, thinking of Joe and missing him just a little.

"And you are glad to have loved him, even though you are not with him?"

Was I glad that I fell in love with Morelli? Our relationship, when it was bad, hurt me to the core, kept me up at night with sticky tears, and roused my mornings with puffy faces and regrets.

"We weren't right for one another. We mistreated each other a lot, took advantage, dismissed feelings."

"Yes, but there was a reason you loved him, no? If there were not reasons for you to be apart, then you would be together. And if there were not reasons for you to have been together, than you would not have been. So you were, and now you are not."

We were like two puzzle piece corners, me and Joe, trying to fit together in the middle. In the end, we were supposed to be on opposite ends, holding our own, existing separately but still a part of the same puzzle.

If nothing else, Joe had been a great friend to me, no matter how sore our hearts were.

"I'm not ashamed to have loved him," I announced finally.

"And I am not ashamed to have loved Ramon. We had our time. Now we do not. It is all time coming, going. Nothing wasted. Everything means something."

"I am not with him for a reason…" I said quietly, almost in a reminder.

"Of course," she said, smiling again as she slid the IV out of my arm and placed a square of gauze over the hole. "And this is why you are Ranger's woman; there is a reason, you see."

I sighed, hoping I could somehow get through to this woman. "Ranger and I aren't really _together_."

She laughed lightly again, unfazed by my disagreements. "You do not have to be together for him to be your man, and for you to be his woman. This is just how it is to be, because it is."

_Right, that makes _total_ sense. _


	4. Just Four You

A new chapter? Can it be? Yes! It is!

Thank you all for your great support. I'm truly blown away that you even fucking care about my silly little story. My life's been crazy, but it's been nice to have all this to come back to. Hope all you lovely people have an amazing rest of the week. I'm not promising another chapter this weekend, but I'm going to try my hardest. :)

I'm still having some problems with my PM. I'm not sure if anyone else has been. I get on my account and it's disabled, though I had just re-enabled it. It's strange. But like I said, if it fails, try back soon and hopefully I'll have fixed it by then.

Disclaimer: I don't even "sort of" own this.

* * *

><p>As soon as Esmeralda had finished removing all of my bionic accessories, Ella arrived to walk with me to seven where a crock pot of chicken noodle soup sat simmering on the stove next to a fresh loaf of warm, sliced sourdough bread.<p>

Ella stayed and ate with me, and since I hadn't had the chance to invite her to before she'd ladled two bowls, I assumed that she was babysitting upon Ranger's request.

When I stood to help clear the table she hopped out of her chair and ushered me to Ranger's bathroom, where an extra two towels had been laid out for my use.

"I will clean up lunch. You clean up you," she said, winking as she clicked the door shut.

I stripped off the filthy clothes contaminated with the strange sterile smells all clinical institutions possessed; smells even Ranger couldn't avoid.

Naked, I stared at myself in the mirror, pinching here, smoothing there, positioning myself in different angles to see where everything would relocate. My hair was completely atrocious and I was nauseous remembering that Ranger had seen me like this. Roots plastered to my scalp with grease, frizzy curls abandoning reason, dark circles, puffy face. And…

_Oh. My. God._

I rolled my tongue across my teeth, tasting the stale, disgusting, sleeping-for-three-days-after-throwing-up breath… and I had almost kissed Ranger.

_Okay, I was wrong. Now, I am going to die._

No wonder he opted for my forehead!

I audibly groaned, immediately reaching for the drawer where my toothbrush was kept next to Ranger's. I used his toothpaste and went to town on my mouth for five minutes before spitting, rinsing, and brushing again.

A shot of Listerine, blistering hot water, Ranger's Bulgari shower gel, and a quick shave with Ranger's six blade razor had restored me to hygienically acceptable for the outside world.

I padded into the bedroom and threw on one of Ranger's shirts, unconcerned with whether he would care or not. It's not like I had a whole lot of options. Plus, it was comfortable and it smelled like Cuban Batman.

I didn't check to see if Ranger had come up yet, or to see if Ella had gone. I went straight to chocolate sheet paradise, wrapped myself in Ranger's heavenly scent, and drifted to into a deep sleep.

* * *

><p>I awoke to the feel of billion thread count sheets against my skin and the sound of silence caressing my eardrums. It was absolute heaven and I warred with my mind to calm itself back into slumber.<p>

It was a battle I wasn't going to win.

I rolled over onto my back, and smacked my elbow into something hard.

"Shit!" a voice that was not my own moaned.

I rolled away from Ranger, holding my sore elbow as he held his hand over his nose.

"Sorry! Oh, geez, I'm sorry!" I told him as I twisted, readjusting so I was on my knees, kneeling over him.

"Babe," he muffled against his massive hand, sitting up against the headboard so that we were nearly eye level.

"I didn't mean to! Oh, God, I broke your nose!"

He shook his head.

My hands found their way to his, moving them out of the way so I could see the damage.

The bridge of his perfect nose was red and already a little swollen, but still perfect nonetheless. I leaned in and lightly touched my lips to the redness, still holding his hand in both of mine.

"I'm really, really sorry. That has to be the worst way to be woken up."

He shook his head again.

It would have been the worst way to have been woken up for any normal person; Ranger was far from your average man.

"It still sucks. I'm really sorry," I said again.

He leaned forward, his free hand moving to the back of my head and pulling me to him until our mouths softly touched.

"Stop being sorry," he told me, his voice resounding in its smooth deepness.

"Why are you in bed in the middle of the day?" I asked him, moving so that I was leaning against the headboard next to him, not releasing his hand.

"Babe."

I twisted around and noticed no light shining through the crevice between the curtains.

"I thought you were coming up to get me earlier," I mentioned, not really annoyed considering a) I got to sleep in Ranger's bed and b) Ranger had been sleeping next to me.

"Well, I wasn't going to wake you," he told me, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth.

"So, you just hopped in next to me and called it a day?"

He shook his head, sort of smiling half a Ranger smile. "I went back downstairs. Ella stayed in the apartment with you until I came back up this evening."

"Please don't tell me that the purpose of Ella being here was to babysit me while I was sleeping."

"I was uncomfortable with you being alone after having just come up from the infirmary."

"That's dumb. It was just a flu bug. I got over it; you should, too."

And then, straight out of right field, he got _that_ look again, the one from the infirmary, the one I couldn't figure out; like he was confused and horny at the same time. Which, if I'm being honest with myself, is a face I wear most days of the week. But there were other maybe-emotions dancing across his face, all intermingling into one strange expression, like tenderness and sadness, but some more confusion, and definitely some more horn-dog sex appeal.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked, moving so that I was leaning on his shoulder but still looking up at his face.

He raised an eyebrow in question to my question.

"You had this weird expression on your face…"

"Babe."

We sat in silence for a minute; an environment in which Ranger thrived and I floundered. I mean, there was _always_ something to talk about.

"I think you should know…" I started and he turned his head to stare at my eyes, his face relaxed into a familiar tenderness that I'd come to appreciate during times when we were alone. Next to the faces he made when he was sleeping and when he was cumming, it was the most beautiful his face could be; seeing it made my heart flip-flop in my chest.

I cleared my throat and started again. "I think you should know that Joe and I won't be seeing each other anymore."

His head nodded once, slow in its movement.

"We decided that we were happier apart, as friends, than we could be together. I haven't told anybody else, but I'm sure the whole of the Burg knows. So, really, you probably already knew, but I wanted to tell you anyway… I guess... I wanted it to come from me. Officially."

"I didn't know. I appreciate you telling me and I'm sorry that things don't seem to be working out."

"This time is different. It's not like "things aren't working out again,"It's more like "things didn't work out." I… there's no going back this time. We've said our peace." And we'd had goodbye sex. Goodbye-for-good sex.

Ranger picked up on the strange sadness in my tone that I hadn't expected to be there.

"You are an amazing woman, a strong woman. And you are that with or without Morelli. You can't allow who you are, what you stand for, what you do, to be compromised by your relationship with a man."

My relationship with a man. Not my relationship with Morelli. I wondered if his noun usage was purposeful.

My next words were so quiet I wondered if he'd heard them. "Ranger, if I'd been someone else, if I'd just allowed myself to change, then I wouldn't have hurt us both so much. We could be together and do what I was _supposed_ to be okay doing. We would get married; I'd have a roast on the table at six every night; we'd have chocolate-eyed babies with big loopy curls. We'd have arguments we'd sweep under the rug, and affairs that we'd both know about but never bring up. But we could have loved each other, been together forever the way that it was _supposed_ to be; the way it has been for the last 100 Burg years. I could have fixed us, and I didn't. I didn't want all of that, or him enough to be the person I was raised to be…"

Quiet tears were now streaming down my face as I stared into the blackness of the room. "It's my fault; I just… I didn't… I couldn't love him enough to change. I was too selfish to change for him." I turned to face his watching eyes. "I loved him, just like I was supposed to, just not _as much_ as I was supposed to."

"Babe, sometimes we fall in love with things that aren't right for us. Not bad things, just the wrong things. Morelli is a good cop and a good man. But that doesn't mean he's right for you."

And I suppose that's how I'd always been; I loved the right men just fine, I just never gave them the amount of love that I should have. Morelli should have been my all-encompassing, bone-tingling, soul mate; the one that I would love my entire life, through death, as long as some part of me existed. Ranger was supposed to be my friend, my mentor, someone that I loved to be around and to talk to, but someone that I could forget about when I went to sleep at night. I'd had it backwards for years, and it frustrated me that I couldn't fix who I was to accommodate the men in my life the way they were supposed to be.

Ranger hugged me to him tightly, slowly rocking my body back and forth, suffocating all of the hurt and the pain and the grief until it was extinguished and all that was left in my body was exhaustion.

* * *

><p>I awoke the next morning with a puffy face, a sore throat, and a dull aching in my chest, but overall I felt much better than I had the day before. There was no rolling nausea in my abdomen and the slight throbbing in my head was probably due to dehydration from all the stressful tears the night before.<p>

I stretched my body, relishing the feeling of Ranger's sheets against my skin. I cracked my eyes and confirmed that I was, indeed, alone.

There was a folded piece of paper on the nightstand. I rolled and retrieved it, my heart warming slightly.

_Babe,_

_I left for the gym and I have a meeting at 0700. Ella will be up with breakfast for you at 0800. Help yourself to anything here. I'll be in and out of my office all day if you need me. I'll take you home later, whenever you're ready. No rush._

_-R_

I decided to take some initiative and make coffee, a feat that took almost 25 minutes from start to finish because all twelve buttons on Ranger's machine were in a language that was more Italian than I was.

I washed, and scrubbed, and brushed, feeling like today needed to be different because being sick and doing nothing but moping over a relationship that I was a part in mutually ending wasn't something that had resulted in much or many productive workings.

And let's be honest, the bills don't pay themselves and Rex doesn't have the attention span to be a bounty hunter.

I felt better today and I was going to take advantage of it. I was gonna march into the bonds office and demand the highest bonded skip Connie had. And if she didn't give me that one because it was Ranger's, I'd take second best…

Or the third.

_Whatever_.

_Someone_ was going back to jail, and _I_ was going to be the one to put them there.

I sifted through the bottom drawer of Ranger's dresser, tossing aside shirts I'd had to change out of so that I was in Rangewear for work; I bit back a smile at the embarrassingly large assortment of underwear that had accumulated over the course of my kind-of-but-not-really-totally-plutonic nighttime stays in the Batbed.

I ended up in jeans that should have been stained but were not, thanks to Ella, and a tiny black sweater that was both cute and practical, and paired it with boots I'd left in Ranger's closet after the last late night security walk-through I'd done with Hal.

"I forgot how good my butt looks in these jeans," I said aloud as I smacked my ass and pranced my perky self to the kitchen to finish off the last of the coffee.

For some strange reason, I felt _really_ good. Like _high_, good... Not that I'd ever been high. I'd have to ask Mooner about the giddiness, the confidence. Maybe it was just after-flu bounce-back that my brain was taking complete advantage of.

Or maybe it was the six cups of coffee I'd loaded with sugar and cream that Ella had made sure were constantly in-stock next to the soy protien and wheat grass Ranger had every morning.

Either way, the Rangeman offices were in for a surprisingly upbeat Stephanie "Bombshell" Plum.

I hopped my way out the door and to the elevator, doing a little side to side jig once I was inside.

I started making my way to Ranger's office, grinning like a maniac and waving to everyone I passed by on my way.

The office door was cracked open and I heard voices. I paused, considering sitting at my desk until whoever he was talking to left, but stood a beat too long and caught wind of a conversation that I knew would stop if I made it known that I was listening.

So, like my mother would have wanted me to, I stood sneakily outside of the door and listened quietly.

"This is grossly unacceptable."

"I agree, sir." The voice was Bobby's.

"I don't understand how this has happened _twice_ now." Ranger's voice was deceptively calm to the unfamiliar ear in its smooth baritones; but I could hear the underlying threats, the masterfully contained anger simmering underneath his words.

"Ranger, I'm not really sure what else you want me to say to you. This is important to me, too. I'm just as frustrated as you are."

I could almost feel Ranger raise his eyebrow is disagreement.

"Check your tone, Brown."

Bobby cleared his throat. "You know what I mean, man," he continued. "I would never allow this to happen under basic circumstances, let alone any that pertain to anyone of the team, _especially_ her."

Her? That would be… me?

"And yet it _has_ happened not once, but twice. I need those results, Bobby."

"If you have her come back down to the infirmary before she goes home, I can have them to you no later than 1800 tonight."

"You're dismissed."

I decided then to knock, as if I'd just shown up, rather than wait to be discovered as soon as Bobby opened the door. Then there would be no doubt I had been listening.

"Hey, Steph. How're you feeling?"

Bobby opened the door to me and I had to consciously restrain myself from gasping at his appearance. His eyes were rounded in dark circles and his face had developed a lazy, if not totally sexy, stubble. He looked completely exhausted and I felt my heart drop; I knew that he'd been taking care of me, and in effect had back-burnered his own needs.

"Hey, Bobby. I'm feeling much better thanks only to you." I tried my best to smile without looking concerned.

He shrugged a shoulder. "Hey, you healed. All I did was watch."

With that he winked and stepped past me, as I maneuvered into Ranger's office.

He watched me enter and his face took on an "I'm thinking about smiling," expression.

"Babe," he nodded once.

"Hey."

"Feeling better?" I could tell just by the quirk of his eyebrow that he was referring less to how I was feeling physically and more to how my heart felt.

I nodded. "Last night was kind of a purging of all this… this _bullshit_ and I just…" I took a deep breath and let it out. "Thank you. I needed to tell someone… everything."

He inclined his head; Ranger's version of the vigorous nod. "I'm glad to have been that someone."

"So am I."

We stood there in silence, staring through one another, begging for answers to questions neither of us would voice aloud.

"You'll need a car," he finally said, his voice strangely louder than usual.

It took a moment for me to stumble out of my staring stupor.

"What? No! No. No, I'm good. I can get a car. I'll get a car."

"And you'll be driving your father's Buick until the money magically appears in your bank account?"

"Please don't make money magically appear in my bank account," I groaned.

This earned me a smile.

I felt insanely inadequate having to admit that I didn't have any big-kid savings account for emergency "my car exploded" occasions.

"I can have whichever vehicle you'd like dropped off at your apartment early this afternoon. We'll be using them for operations beforehand, but any of them would be available to you following that."

I sighed dramatically. "What if it explodes?"

He leaned back in his chair and another smile curled his lips as he shook his head.

"Babe."

"It's a legitimate possibility! The only reason we're having this conversation is because my last car blew up."

"Vehicles are expendable."

"Much like these conversations apparently."

He rewarded that comment with another wicked grin.

"You want the Porsche?"

I smiled with him in spite of myself.

"You have to ask?"

* * *

><p>Ranger dropped me off at my building after we'd stopped in the infirmary to have Bobby draw more blood. According to Ranger, someone had allowed the last two samples to become contaminated, so that the results were not conclusive.<p>

Ranger had walked me to my door, shoved me against it, and plunged his hot tongue into my desperate mouth. My hands splayed on his chest and slowly started a northern ascent, wrapping themselves around the hair at the base of his neck. It was a violent, possessive kiss, one with teeth and domination. Just before I started grinding my hips into his, he pulled back slightly, still trapping me between him and the wall with his hands on either side of my head.

"Later, Babe," he whispered against my lips, before disappearing down the stairwell.

I sighed audibly and allowed my heart to stop hammering before I twisted the lock open and let myself inside.

My apartment was spotless, cleaner than it probably had ever been. There was no evidence of sickness anywhere, no indication that I'd had scattered tissues by the couch or vomit on the rug. It even smelled differently than the apartment I was so used to coming home to; there was a strange sweetness in the air, and a mild acidic note, crisp and a little dizzying. I accredited the new aroma to cleaning products.

Ranger had had someone come in to clean.

I warred with myself between being grateful that he'd intervened and spared me the chores, and being upset that I hadn't been able to take care of it myself. Ranger had indirectly cleaned my apartment. Which meant that aside from putting me up for days in a secret infirmary underneath his multi-million dollar company, and allowing me to purge the pain of my emotions from my toxic relationship with a man that wasn't him, Ranger had spent money on having my home cleaned. He didn't have to; I didn't ask. He'd just done it because it had to be done.

I spread some peanut butter on a piece of bread and ate green olives on the side, sucking each pimento out with a 'pop'.

I walked to Rex's cage, armed with an olive, and noted him tucked away in the safety of his soup can. I noticed the strangely tidy condition of his home, the bedding unruffled and deceivingly level, the absence of little hamster gifts he normally left for me. I had neglected that particular motherly duty since I'd been sick, and was a little embarrassed to know that someone else felt the need to pick up the slack.

When I pressed speed dial, he answered after the first ring.

"Yo."

"Yo, you cleaned my apartment."

"Employees of mine cleaned your apartment."

"Employees of yours cleaned Rex's cage."

"That's what they were paid to do. I pay them to be thorough."

I sighed. "I would like to pay you back for this."

I heard papers rustling on the other end of the phone. "I can think of many ways in which you can repay me." I could practically hear his massive grin.

"I would like to monetarily pay you back. You know, with money."

"That's not necessary."

"Look, I'm Catholic. If you don't let me pay you back, then I'll carry around this burden of guilt for the rest of my life."

"I am also Catholic. Say a few Hail Mary's and you'll feel better. I'm not going to take your money, Babe."

"No. It's not like that. It's me, taking care of my own problems, just like I'm supposed to. I'm an adult."

"Consider it a gift and thank me."

I didn't say anything. If I accepted it as a gift, it would just be another one of those things he'd given me: cars, clothing, food, and cleaning services. If I continued to argue, I would seemingly devalue his generosity. It was a lose-lose.

"Ranger, I appreciate it. I cannot tell you how much. But I'm afraid that your abundant generosity and the fact that I never reciprocate anything is going to come back to bite us in the ass."

More papers shuffled and I heard the slam of a car door. "Steph, we've gone over this a million times. We take what is offered by the other, and we, in turn, give what we can. There are no expectations, no debts. It's just us, Babe."

"Well… thank you. It all still seems a little imbalanced."

"You contribute to our relationship in more ways than you give yourself credit for."

I sighed again. "Call me later."

The line went dead.

I dialed Lula.

"Didn't nobody never tell you that you're supposed to call people back before you start to die or somethin'?"

"Hi."

"Hi your face. You even missed out on my brand new manicure. It's wild. Ain't it wild Connie? Even Connie says it's wild. Tell Stephanie it's wild."

I heard Connie mutter an indifferent, "It's wild."

"Any chance Connie has any skips for me?"

Lula muttered to Connie, who yelled, "You're supposed to be taking it easy!"

"I'm fine! All better now. It was just the flu."

There was shuffling on the other end of the line and I heard Lula curse.

"I'll give you Mooner. That's it. Otherwise, you should be in bed, not testing the fates." Connie sounded distracted and annoyed.

"The fates is like karma; they're all bitches!" Lula yelled over the line.

"Karma is only a bitch if you are. Connie, I'll be by this afternoon."

Mooner was better than nobody.

And to be honest, I wasn't feeling all that great anyway.

There wasn't a whole lot to do while I waited for the Turbo to be dropped off. I turned on the television and stared, not really watching it. I thought about Joe, wondered what he was doing, debated calling him, and ultimately decided that it was far too soon to expect myself to not to think about him, and equally too soon to speak to him. Which sucked, since I missed him.

The images flicked brightly across the screen and in response my stomach turned and twisted in a way that had become all too familiar the last few days.

My self-pitying thoughts over my faulty immune system were soon interrupted by a solid double knock at the door.

"Coming!" I moaned as I rolled off of the couch.

I peered through the peephole to make sure it wasn't anyone bearing a bloody hatchet or a sawed off shot gun—or anything else that could potentially kill me.

To my surprise, it was Dillon, the building's maintenance man.

I slid aside the chain and opened the door, smiling at him as best I could, despite not feeling well.

"Hey, Dillon. How's it goin'?"

"Oh, same ol', same ol'. How have you been? Some of the other tenants had mentioned you'd been sick."

I didn't know that anyone was aware I'd not been well. Apparently even the most localized bits of information are passed around the whole of the Burg. "Oh, you know, cold and flu season. I seem to be over the worst of it; I'm much better. Thanks." I smiled again.

We stood in awkward silence for a moment, which was strange because I'd never really spoken to Dillon long enough to invoke awkwardness or silence. I mean, we were friendly, shared a six-pack and a pizza every now and again over a game, but that was my poor-man's version of payment for services he'd done to restore my apartment to viable living conditions. I wouldn't call us _friends_, I guess.

"Is there something you needed me for?" I asked, trying not to sound rude but really fighting against the sour stomach feeling.

"Oh, right. Well, a few of the tenants have had some complaints about their radiator not working and I wanted to make sure you weren't having a problem with yours. You know, having been sick and all." His hands kept fisting and un-fisting at his sides.

I shook my head. "Nope, mine's working great. Keeping everything nice and toasty."

He nodded once. "Good to hear. Well, uh, let me know if you need anything. We should do beer and pizza sometime."

"Sure thing," I said, not really committing to the idea. "Thanks, Dillon."

"See you around."

I bolted the lock and moved to the living room, clicking off the television and shuffling to my bedroom to see if Rangeman had dropped off the car quite yet. I was sidetracked, however, by the sight of a single red rose lying across the wrinkle-free sheets stretched below the hump of fluffed pillows on my bed, a note folded beside it.

The loopy script written inside simply said: _Missed you_.

And though it didn't quite look like his handwriting, I was sure I knew exactly who it was from.

Leave it to Ranger to make me swoon over him even when he wasn't present.

I looked out over the parking lot with a smile plastered to my flushed face and saw the Porsche parked directly in front of the door, a Rangeman SUV idling next to it. I waved and held up a finger, indicating I'd be down in a minute, not completely sure that they were looking up at me or not thanks to the deep tint of the windows.

I ignored the rolling nausea and headed downstairs.

Tank and Lester were casually leaning against the vehicle by the time I'd reached the parking lot.

"I hope you guys weren't waiting long," I said, reaching for the keys Tank held in front of him.

"Ha! We're on "Bombshell Watch" until further notice," Lester told me, his cheeks dimpling.

"_What?_"

"Boss put us on you until-"

"Yes, I've gathered that much," I interrupted. "Why is there a team on me at all?"

Lester looked to Tank, apparently convinced that I was missing some vital point he couldn't relay.

"Your car exploded. Alert for you is orange anytime your life is in potential danger."

"My life is always in potential danger; it's not like this stuff is new. And I'm not even going to pretend to know what "orange" means."

Lester chimed in. "Green, blue, yellow, orange, red. We operate under a color-coded defense system. You're normally at elevated risk potential, or yellow. Any time your life is directly threatened, it changes to orange."

"What triggers red then?"

Lester's annoying grin widened. "That happens any time you remove your trackers and we lose feed of your location."

"Oh."

"Are we going anywhere fun?" he asked.

I ignored him. "Why are _you_ here, though?"

They both looked completely lost.

"I mean, doesn't the A-team have something more important to do than follow me around all day. He usually assigns B-string for this sort of thing." I turned to Tank. "I'm _really_ surprised _you're_ here."

Tank shrugged. "Bossman made it clear that only experienced field men were to work "Steph Watch." You have a tendency to disappear when you feel like it."

I crossed my arms. "Sometimes being followed conflicts with my schedule."

Tank's mouth twitched and Lester still sported a cocky smirk.

"I'll be going upstairs to get my purse and a jacket. Then I'm going to come back down here, put my seatbelt on, stick the keys in the ignition, and drive to the bonds office. I've got to go pick up Mooner's papers, and then I'm heading over to his place to pick him up. From there, I'll drop him off at the station and return to the Bond's office. Doesn't that sound _exciting_?" I sarcastically swooned. "Try to keep up with my _jam_-packed day."


	5. Five for a Fright

I hope you are all having a fabulous weekend. If you aren't, I hope that this brightens it up a little bit. It's a short one, but I had to stop it in just the right spot. And when I say "right", I mean the "most horribly cruel place I could think of." Hope you dig the fun Shenanigans. As for the not-so-fun aspect that might terrify half of you into abandonment... don't leave. We're just getting started!

AND, as always, thank you so much for you kind interest in the story and all of your encouraging words. You have no idea how happy I am to have even one of you care a little. And for those of you reading and not reviewing, thanks so much to you, too. In all honesty, I'm thrilled to have you around.

PM still being funky. Blah, blah, blah.

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine... but the mean things I do to them? That's me.

* * *

><p>I was sitting on the couch at the bonds office, watching Lula strut around in a neon orange spandex tube dress and snake skin Jimmy Choo's that made my feet hurt just looking at them. She was flapping her arms around, making her glittering pink nails sparkle in the light.<p>

"Don't these rhinestones look like for real diamonds? Connie says they look as fake as they are, but if I was far away I could swear they could look for for real."

On the nail of each ring finger, she had three very fake-looking rhinestones imbedded in the acrylic gel.

I shrugged. "I think they could pass for for real from far away…" if the person looking at them was blind…

"See, Connie? Steph knows about this stuff!" She plopped down next to me and crossed her legs, hiking her dress half-way up her thick thighs. "So, rumor mill says Officer Hot Pants and The Bombshell Bounty Hunter have gone kaput-sies. Care to share?"

"Rumor mill would be correct." I leaned back and stared at my hands. "I don't really want to talk about it."

"You sure that's not why you was sick all week? Connie and me would understand if that's why you was sick."

"It wasn't about Joe. I was actually, honestly sick with the flu."

It was silent for the briefest of moments before Connie chimed in; watching as she lacquered her nails a deep crimson and pointedly avoided my eyes. "So, what happened this time?"

I sighed. "We ran out of steam. It's hard being in a relationship that you know isn't going to work out."

"Wait. So, you're like, _done_ done?" Connie asked, looking up from her hails, mouth gaping.

I nodded.

"Hold on one hot second! This is a lot for me to take in right now," Lula gasped, leaning heavily against the back of the couch. "Do you think I'm too young to have a conniption? I think I'm having a conniption. Is it hot in here? Connie, I think it's getting hot in here." She turned to open the window behind her and halted movement when her gaze landed on the 911. "I was right. It's about to get hot in here. And by "in here," I mean in Stephanie's pants. I know it might be a little too soon or insensitive to bring up during this time of devastation for you—"

"I'm not devastated," I rendered.

"Well, I'm _tryin'_ to be all sensitive to your shitty situation, but let's talk about that fine piece of man masterpiece that gave you a Porsche on account of your piece of shit exploding. I could talk about _that_ all day long. Give us the scoop!"

"There is no "scoop." What about him?" I leaned my head back against the wall. There were way too many thoughts clouding my head to care any more about what we were talking about.

"What do you mean "what about him"?" Connie shouted. "The man is _clearly_ interested in some potentially illegal bedroom activities involving you and your Italian-Hungarian libido. He wants you. _Everyone_ wants him. I would give my right arm to get him to look at me with half the intensity he looks at you. _That's_ "what about him.""

"I'd give all my arms _and_ all my legs just to get to lick his face, just once. I don't remember what that kind of cripple is called, but I'd be one just to lick his face."

"Quadriplegic. What about Tank? You don't think Tank would mind your tongue all over Ranger?" I asked, trying to divert the subject from me.

"Or Stephanie?" Connie asked. "I bet Stephanie would mind."

"I wouldn't mind," I glared, trying to make a point. But really, we all knew I'd cut her tongue off; I wasn't feeling particularly fuzzy to the idea, _and_ I was in kind of a bad mood.

"Batman's his boss. He wouldn't even mind it. And if Stephanie minded why would you go and do a thing like cut off _your_ arm? Seems like Steph would mind that, too."

"I said to have him look at me! Not to rape his face with my tongue!"

"You just don't appreciate a lick-able face when you see one!" Lula retorted.

Awkward silence filled the office before Connie yelled at me again. "Let's get back onto what we really should be talking about. Stephanie, just because the Italian Stallion was sold for glue doesn't mean the whole farm has to be out of commission!"

"I'm not going to justify that horribly lame metaphor with any kind of response. You just called me a farm."

"If he makes you sleep with him on account of him giving you cars, it's only 'ho work if you he don't get the job done for you in the bedroom. You know? But no way that man's never finished a job in his whole life. I'd give you some pointers or somethin', but I'm not in that business no more. And he probably gets the job done, anyways."

"I'm not a 'ho, and we aren't sleeping together."

"C'mon, Steph!" Connie threw her hands up for emphasis.

"Hey! You have babysitters? Probably since your car exploded, right? You always have to have babysitters when your car ka-booms."

Lula jutted a thumb towards the SUV and I gave her a small smile, while inside I was grinning manically like the Cheshire Cat.

"Tank and Lester."

"He's got Varsity on you?" Connie asked, scrunching her face.

"That's what I said!" I waved my hands, exasperated.

At least _I_ wasn't the only one who thought that was weird.

"Tank's here? How come you didn't mention that sooner?" Lula smoothed her golden hair back from her face, effectively changing nothing about the way it looked. "We're supposed to have dinner tonight."

"Are you okay, Steph?" Connie asked.

"Yeah. I'm fine. Why?"

"You seem… off."

"Yeah!" Lula interjected. "I thought it was just me! You're all… moody? Is moody the right word?"

Connie shook her head. "Sort of. Excited one second, exhausted the next, pissed off, and then excited all of the sudden again, like you were never tired. How have you been sleeping?"

"I've been sleeping all right. A lot since I've been sick. My headache and the nausea have been coming and going all day. Maybe that's it."

"You got the runs?"

Connie and I stared at Lula in disgusted silence before her eyes went big.

"Are you…" Her eyes flicked to Connie, whose eyes had widened so that you could see white all the way around her irises.

Connie gasped. "Could you be?"

"I'm missing something…" I said warily.

"Could you be pregnant?"

"Are you pregnant?"

I choked on my spit trying to swallow, shocked that _that_ is what both of them had been thinking.

"No. Absolutely not. No chance." I said, silently doubting myself if only for the fact that _pregnancy_, terrifying word that it was, had been brought up.

"No chance? You and Officer Hottie been practicing for monk school the last three years? There's always a chance."

"Monk school?" Connie asked.

"Monks don't do none of the hanky-panky stuff! When was the last time you had any hanky-panky with a monk? I bet never, cause monks don't do none of that kind of stuff."

"I seriously don't need this right now. I'm not pregnant. I've been on the pill since my early twenties. I'm sure my insides continue to be a barren, baby-less wasteland just like they've always been."

"Denial isn't good for the child. Makes it feel all neglected and whatnot."

"There is no child!"

"Jeeze, don't start gettin' all mad at me 'cause you wasn't careful enough. That comes with 'ho territory, too. You gotta be careful about these sorta things. I could tell you more about that, too, but it's all mostly gone from my mind since I became a one-man woman."

"Can we not do this? How about a new subject that doesn't focus on imaginary stressors? I have enough real-life issues to worry about without having to conceive any ideas of another person invading my body."

"Sounds to me like you already been conceiving a lot of things…"

"So, things with Tank are good?" Connie peeked at me as she blew on her nails and I gave a small smile of thanks.

Lula's eyes went soft and her voice was nostalgic; she'd forgotten all about the pretend pregnancy. "That man…" she breathed dramatically, shaking her head.

Another strange silence settled over the room, which I took as signal for my leave.

I stood and stretched my arms over my head. "You sure you won't give me anyone besides Mooner?"

"Honestly, Steph, he's the only one I've got. I know that times are a little tight for you lately-"

"Please, let's assume that if we ignore my financial hardships, they'll just go away like any other problem does when you pretend it doesn't exist."

"Like you and Morelli's accidental love child? Runnin' around on skips ain't gonna be good for the baby. And all that funny-stuff smoke from Mooner? Keep that away from your womb. I heard it'll turn white babies black. It's just what I heard."

I ignored that. "I'll have Mooner at the station in about a half hour."

The rest of the afternoon went relatively smoothly, if you dismiss the fact that my mind was constantly reeling over the not-really-at-all plausibly possible pregnancy invading my womb.

I mean, I hadn't been late… and everything went as usual in _that_ department. It was far too early for signs that might have accumulated since my last cycle.

On the other hand, a poor, Stephanie's-brain rendition of Lula's voice was playing devil's advocate to my logic.

_It's not impossible to have period-like spotting in the beginning of pregnancy. _

_Birth control means diddley-squat for super-determined sperm._

_Bet Morelli has crazy, mutant sperm that are birth control-proof. _

_No matter how careful you are, the only baby-proof method of birth control is monk school_.

And then I thought back to this morning, where Bobby had mentioned having "contaminated" results on my blood test. Maybe, "contaminated" meant "contaminated by the growing human being that we totally didn't expect to be there, developing inside of you."

Was this possible?

_Of course_ _it was_ possible.

Did I think this was actually happening?

_Not entirely_.

Was I currently sitting on the lid of my toilet, reading the directions on the back of an at-home pregnancy test that I'd bought at a drugstore ten miles outside of where anyone could have run into me? Did I deliberately buy a box of tampons to conceal said test inside of so that Hal and Cal, who had replaced Lester and Tank halfway through the day, wouldn't even begin to question me about why we were so far outside of the Burg just to stop at a drugstore?

_I'm stubborn, not stupid_.

I had two minutes of eternity to allow the small, unassuming stick to sort through my urine and reassure me that there wasn't evidence of baby sweat floating around in my pee.

_But what if there is?_

If there was, I would deal with it. I'm not financially, emotionally, or mentally stable enough to have a child, but I would deal with that. I could deal with the leaking and crying and neediness that so stigmatizes the existence of new life. I could make that part work.

If this was really happening to me, that meant it was going to be happening to Joe, too; it would affect me, Morelli, our families, the whole of the Burg, the child in question.

And it would affect Ranger. That was the part I wasn't sure I would be able to deal with. He's just my friend, who I loved beyond all logic and reason, but he's so much more than that.

The "right" thing to do, the Burg expectation, would be to marry Morelli immediately, quit my job, shack up at his place, and take overwhelming advantage of my remaining reproductive years.

This would be the incident that strong-armed me back to conformity, back to Joe. He would have everything he always wanted, and I would have a child and a husband just like I was supposed to.

I glanced at the long stemmed rose I'd transferred to a petite crystal vase, which I'd tucked into the corner of the bathroom counter, just behind the sink. Maybe not directly, but in so many unmentioned, subsurface levels, I would lose my best friend, my mentor, my rock. I would lose _my_ Ranger, because I would unquestionably belong to someone else.

I swallowed the rising bile in my throat; the nausea had returned since I'd gotten home. I couldn't decide if it was residual sickness, anxiety sickness, or "there's a baby invading my womb" sickness.

I checked the clock and took a deep breath, reaching for the unassuming little stick that could potentially alter the rest of my life. I slammed my eyelids shut and held it in front of my face.

Then, I raised my eyes and faced my fate.

* * *

><p>AN:

SS readers shout in outrage: "What a bitch, Willow!"

BlkBrd13 cowers in fear: "Yes, I know. I'm sorry... kind of. Stay tuned?"

Really, if you don't, how will you ever know? :)


	6. DeepSix

I'm so sorry! I meant to get this out last week, but life got in the way, as it has a constant tendency to do. All good things, though. Thanks to those of you who PM'd me, making sure that I was still alive. I DID say two weeks at the most, right? Alas, I am doing quite well. Just busy as a fucknut. Next update will most likely be not next week, but the mid-way through the week after. I have a trip coming up and wanted to plan it so that you weren't waiting a month for an update.

Thanks again for reading, for letting me know what you're thinking, and for letting me know how you're liking the abuse I'm putting poor Stephanie through. I truly, truly appreciate it all.

Disclaimer: Life was a bitch, and then someone who is not me wrote the Stephanie Plum Series, and now it's not. For her, anyway. ;)

* * *

><p>One lonely, pink line ran down the center of the tiny oval.<p>

I checked, double checked, triple checked what just one line meant.

I stood from the toilet and threw the stupid stick into the wall, panting with the exertion. Tears pricked my eyes and I found myself unable to control any semblance of calm.

I hadn't wanted a child; never really saw myself as the mothering kind. But for some reason, the news of not being pregnant after half-expecting to be expecting made me angry, as if my emotions, so geared towards other things, had betrayed me with this vague hope I hadn't been prepared to possess.

_I shouldn't be acting like this. This is good. This is _very_ good news._

It was one of those things I'd mulled over for the better part of my adult life. Because I am a woman, I am supposed to be fragile, supposed to be nurturing and gentle. I was created to care for a husband, bear his children, raise them. I was made to reproduce, to spawn.

This is the role society had bestowed upon me.

By not conforming, by bounty hunting, chasing after the dangerous ne'er-do-wells, divorcing a man who I should have worked harder to keep, leaving a man who would have been a good father, a loving husband, by pursuing a man who I knew there was no future with, I was failing in every facet of life's expectation for me.

I let my family down by being selfish, by being a 30-year-old, single bounty hunter with no car, no savings, no children, no chance; I let Joe down because I wouldn't be what he needed, even though the love was there; I let myself down by not allowing myself to live to my potential for fear of what other people might say; and I let Ranger down, five minutes ago, when momentarily I'd hoped for a child that would have cost me his role in my life, a child I wanted for because I thought its life would somehow redeem what I'd been doing to everyone else I'd always been failing.

Without much warning at all, I was doubled over, vomiting into the sink.

I glanced at the alarm clock on my night stand, reading that it was just after 3 a.m.

After the violent sickness attacked me, I cleaned up my mess and moved to my bed, not even bothering to slip out of my clothes.

I had lain there, fully clothed, sensing his presence even through the fog of slumber. I rolled over to find the broad, reassuring blackness of his silhouette filling the doorway of my bedroom. He was leaning against the threshold, arms crossed over his chest.

I sat up and faced him, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed.

"Go back to sleep, Babe. You didn't answer your phone," he said, his voice deep and soft. "I was concerned."

I shook my head. "I'm not feeling so great. I need to take something."

I shuffled to the kitchen, assuming rather than hearing his following me. I was wearing one of his shirts, which I realized that I wore more often than not to bed, and a pair of grey cotton shorts that might as well have been a pair of underwear; they didn't conceal much and were a size too small anyway. I could almost feel him watching me.

I downed some NyQuil, took a swig of MaLox, and prayed that the cup of water I chugged to down the Advil wouldn't be too much for my stomach to handle.

"Babe."

I turned and found him leaning against the edge of the sink, wearing a concerned look that I didn't often see painting his face.

"I'm seriously not feeling well. Don't judge me."

He shook his head. "No judging. I would simply prefer you not overdose your system."

"Noted. Why didn't you just have your black-clad disciples break in to check on me? What's the purpose of them up my ass all day if you're the one driving across town to make sure I'm not dead? "

His face displayed a strange expression that I couldn't place; something between confusion and frustration. I couldn't figure out what I'd said that was confusing.

"I was in the neighborhood. Weren't you feeling better this morning?"

I nodded. "I felt really good, actually. I guess maybe whatever Bobby gave me has worn off by now. Did the blood work come back with anything?"

He shook his head and seemed to examine me carefully as he spoke. "Your blood tests keep coming back inconclusive."

"What is that supposed to mean to me?"

He stared at me strangely. "They aren't recognizing your blood; it's contaminated before they are able to examine it."

I made my way to the couch and sat on the arm, falling backwards with a nauseating 'plop'. "And _why_ would that be?"

He came and stood above me, leaning over my face, staring, examining. "You sound strange."

"_You_ sound strange. What's wrong with my blood?"

"Have you been drinking?"

"Unfortunately not. Have you?"

I was being a brat, which was really the only word that I could think of to describe the way I was treating him. But I didn't care. And that should have concerned me, too, but it didn't.

"Stephanie, I'm serious," his eyes were hard and pleading all at once. Ranger was the master of double-dipping the meaning behind his rare facial expressions.

I stood up quickly to face him, not wanting to feel so inferior due to position. "I don't feel well, _Ranger_. I don't always have to be in a good mood."

He shook his head again. "You're a bit off, Babe."

"You know what? _Fuck you_. _You're_ off."

He stood there, his forehead wrinkled like I'd never seen it before. I had just told this man, who was so concerned for me, to fuck off. I should have felt bad, but I just felt strange. I felt like I was holding all of this… anger inside of me. This misdirected anger that I didn't understand.

But it concerned me more that for those few bitchy moments, I didn't care at all about what I was saying. I was suddenly outside of the fog, and horrified at what I'd said.

I moved closer to him and rested my hands on his chest, containing this deep-seeded, uncontrollable rage in my belly. I was more nauseous than usual.

"I'm sorry. I'm..." I struggled for an explanation, for the words to adequately express what was happening in my head. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I've had a lot of ups and downs today emotion-wise. I think I might just need to rest." I was suddenly unbearably exhausted.

He nodded.

"Maybe you should come back in the morning."

He stared at me for a long time, and I eventually closed my eyes against his scrutiny; I couldn't watch him care after I'd been so unjustifiably cruel.

"I'll be back in the morning. Call me if you need me."

He kissed my forehead once, the locks tumbled, and he was gone.

By morning I was still on the couch, still nauseous, and still in a bad mood. The digital numbers on my VCR told me it was just after eight, which meant Ranger had half a mind to let me sleep through his version of morning and wake up at a reasonable hour.

For the first time since I'd met him, the idea of seeing Ranger was grating. The night before, I was annoyed with him. This morning, I was annoyed with him and he hadn't even made his way to my apartment yet. It was strange for me to hold any ill feelings against him, but thinking about _why_ I might have been bothered by his company just annoyed me further.

I rose from the couch and stripped on my way to the shower. The water was blistering hot against my skin, but I needed it hotter; I couldn't get it hot enough. The steam was choking me, making the air heavy in my desperate lungs while the spray spat violent, boiling streams at my skin, burning me.

But I liked it; I wanted more of it.

The shower was lukewarm before I stepped out. In front of the mirror I examined the raw, red skin covering my body.

_I should care. My skin should hurt more, and I should care that it doesn't; I should care that I don't care it's so swollen and red. I should care._

I moved to my closet, threw on some underwear, a pair of charcoal sweatpants, and a sweatshirt that was a little too small, but warm and comfortable, which is what I looking for.

When I padded from my room, a long stemmed red rose caught my eye. It was sitting delicately along the back of the couch, another folded note lying against it.

I snorted, annoyed at seeing it, and picked up the note.

_You're so beautiful wet._

If it were anyone but Ranger, I would have been surprised not to have noticed someone in my bathroom with me. As it was, having _not_ noticed Ranger was still a little off-putting, considering he would have been a large black-clad man in the small space of my bathroom, standing feet from me while I showered, that I didn't notice enter or leave.

I assumed that since he'd left, business with me was through.

There was so much noise in my head that my brain could hardly focus on the small, screaming corner in my mind trying to tell me that something was wrong, that I wasn't behaving or thinking like myself.

I felt my body sway a little then, and wrinkled my face; I wasn't really dizzy. I tried to make noise, but couldn't. That's when everything started tunneling out of focus. The last thing I remember seeing was the tiny heart of the blood-red rose lying in front of my face on the floor, fading into the blackness.

I felt hands one me, hands on me everywhere. They were moving over me, sitting me up, prodding my face. I heard several deep, muffled voices calmly relaying things back and forth. One of them was talking to me, then to someone else, then there was another voice further away.

"You need to open your eyes." The sound was so close to my ear, demanding.

A new voice. "Heart rate less than 30 BPM."

A third voice, further away, more muffled. "Heart rate less than 30 BPM."

"Unresponsive to direct questions but mumbling," Hal said.

"I need you to open your eyes, Babe," the first voice whispered again. "You need to open your eyes now, Stephanie." I wished I could listen to him, to that voice I loved, but I was just so tired…

"Boss, lights and sirens are on the way. You want the blue and whites here?" the third voice announced, his tone laced with a southern accent.

"Get Morelli."

Morelli? Why do we need Morelli here?

The third voice repeated that information and then seemed to direct words to the first voice again. "He says Gazarra is on at Stark and 49th."

"Get Morelli." This voice's tone was firm, immobile, revealing no frustration, just finality. It was the voice of someone powerful, a leader, someone who was listened to. I liked it. I recognized it. I just couldn't really remember from where…

"Hand me her fucking phone," _Now_ he sounded annoyed.

It wasn't until then that I realized the ring of a phone incessantly permeating the chaos.

It was silent in the room but for two final rings and sirens crying in the distance, before the first voice answered my phone with a tight, "Hello?"

The almost-silence remained for several more seconds before a loud, deafening explosion dismembered the calm.

The voices disappeared; I was gone.

* * *

><p>My first thought upon waking was focused on the intense pounding shaking through my skull. I then noted a long, drawn whining noise piercing the air, and opened my eyes to black, stinging fog. Faint lights of blue and red permeated the thick air in chaotic flashes. I heard voices shouting in the darkness and tried calling out to them, but could not force words through my burning lungs. Regardless, I knew I would have been incapable of overpowering the pained, continuous ring and the loud, almost deafening roaring sound engulfing the space that I suddenly recognized as my own.<p>

I struggled to move, to do something, remembering that moments before I had not been alone, that people I loved and cared for were in danger as much as I was.

As if answering my panic, a palm latched onto my shoulder.

"Babe?" he asked, his voice calm, but different than I'd ever heard it; I assumed the smoke was bothering his lungs.

He moved up my body and came within inches of my face. "Can you crawl?" He coughed twice.

I tried to tell my body to get up, to do what he asked, but I couldn't force my muscles to respond; I couldn't even force my mouth to form the words to tell him that I couldn't move. Tears of fear sprung from my eyes and began channeling down my face.

He cursed under his breath and moved to his knees, shouting commands into the blackness while gracefully scooping me into his arms and anchoring me to his chest. After just a few moments, Cal appeared on his hands and knees, reporting that Hal was injured, but mobile, and would be able to assist in resident evacuation.

"Take Stephanie down the fire escape and get her to an ambulance. Do _not_ leave her side." His voice was loud, but still controlled, as he managed to exert his sound over the roar of the unseen fire and the piercing scream of the building's alarm.

I wanted to disagree, to fight him and refuse to leave this building without him. But I couldn't; my unresponsive body was betraying my need to stay with him.

I was quickly passed off and carried away, watching the man I so recognized my love for watch me retreat. We stared at one another, our eyes unwavering.

But as Cal climbed through my window and began descending the rickety fire escape, I watched his stone form crumble to the floor.

I begged my body to force the words out, to make Cal turn back and help him, but they wouldn't come. My body was betraying my need to keep him alive.

Down the fire escape, Cal quickly turned to every window we passed and skillfully kicked them in with the toe of his boot.

A swarm of uniformed men descended upon us when we reached the parking lot.

There was a cacophony of powerful, take-charge males drilling Cal on information; that chaos was quickly put to a stop by Tank's booming presence.

"Callahan, report!" he barked, flanked by at least four other Merry Men that blurred strangely into the backdrop of my line of sight.

The group quieted while the remainder of bedlam around us continued as residents were exiting and the fire department was entering. Cal continued moving towards an ambulance. "Stephanie Plum, age 32, 135 pounds, unresponsive for approximately 15 minutes, cause unknown. Explosion on the second floor, cause unknown. Rangeman has two men following through with evac. One of ours is injured. Instructions are to standby. Stephanie is not to be left alone."

_No! He's up there! You're going to let him die!_

I heard a loud, blood-curdling scream pierce the air.

"Don't let him die! He's going to die!"

I then recognized the hysteria as my own; I tried to control the violent emotions, but felt myself slipping back into the dark stupor of silence. I had to make certain they understood.

My name was being repeated over and over again. I turned my frantic eyes to the sound and found myself face to face with Joe Morelli.

"Joe! You can't let him die! You can't let him die, Joe!"

"Nobody's dying, Cupcake."

Without any warning at all, I felt my body disappear and my mind go blank as I embraced the deep silence of the darkness once more.

* * *

><p>AN

Another evil cliffie?

Methinks so.

Am I sorry?

Only a little.

Have a great couple weeks, ladies! (And gentlemen?)


	7. Sobby Seven

A/N

HELLO! I'm back! I know it's been a while, and for that I'm abundantly sorry. My life has been terribly hectic, but I promise I haven't forgotten about you all! I promise I still love each of you in your own special ways. Love me still? Wait until you're done reading, and then we'll talk about the love...

Speaking of love, I just finished reading the first book of the Hunger Games. Fantastic. If you haven't read it, I'd say go ahead and do so. All that greatness that people have talked about is real. Great story line, and it's really well written. If you don't like it, you can feel free to hunt me down and such.

Disclaimer: If I had anything to do with this series, there wouldn't have been a love triangle at all.

* * *

><p>When I was in the third grade, Valerie told me that a hedgehog's heart beats at an average of three hundred beats per minute. She then proceeded to tell me that if my heart were to beat that fast, it would explode right out of my chest and I would die, literally, of a broken heart.<p>

I had just come to the realization of my consciousness amidst darkness. I could hear my heart steadily beating in my chest, musically timed with the constant humming of machines around me and the puffing of air up my nose.

I had been awake for some time now, not opening my eyes for fear of facing reality.

If he was gone, I knew I would die of a broken heart, no matter the deceptively calm rhythm it pretended; there was no way that my heart would be allowed to continue beating if the reason it was still able to do so were no longer alive.

I heard someone clear their throat, a man, probably one of the Merry Men. It was the second time I'd heard it, and wondered if he knew I was no longer unaware.

I opened my eyes slowly, not as bothered by light as I had expected to be due to the dimmed fluorescents.

Tears leaked out of my eyes as I stared up at the ceiling; I knew that if I looked to whoever was in the corner, he would end up telling me the worst news of my life.

"Stephanie?"

My tears came in earnest with the realization that the man looking over me was not the one I'd hoped it would be, but someone I hadn't expected at all.

I tried to choke out his name, but an obstruction would not allow it; a long tube jammed down my throat and plastered to my face caused me to choke and gag against the words I desired.

_Dad_, I thought.

"Helen!" he yelled, summoning my mother through the open doorway she immediately bustled through.

"Oh, Stephanie! My baby!"

There was a tearful rendezvous of hugs and forehead kisses, of maternal rocking and fatherly cheek patting. After the affairs settled down I noticed my Rangeman entourage standing blocking the doorway, Lester and Bobby. I immediately found my tears renewed and made a motion for my parents to get their attention. Before either of them realized my message, the two men parted and made way for Grandma Mazur to pass between them.

"Hot damn, I need to get me some fine men with big guns to follow me around! Hey! Looky here, kiddo! I've got cafeteria pudding. It's the box kind, but it's still tasty. How are you holding up?" She turned and sat in the arm chair across from my bed, acting like it was any other day of the week.

"Mother, please."

"What? She has to eat soon. Might as well know the pudding is good. Don't even have to put my teeth in for it."

My father retreated to the safe, Grandma-free recesses of his mind and sat on the window sill, watching a muted football game on the screen across from my bed.

"How are you feeling?" my mother asked.

I moved my hand in a see-saw fashion with my hand.

"I had no idea you changed your insurance. Your father and I argued with the nurse for twenty minutes before that large black man stepped in and assured us you were still employed with that security company your friend Ranger's trying out. Why didn't you tell me you were working full-time there? And that there were benefits? Janet Leweski's daughter works at a bank and she doesn't even have dental. It would have been nice to know, considering Vincent doesn't give you benefits. And Joseph is here. He didn't want to wait in the room because he thought it might make you uncomfortable; I told him it wouldn't, but he insisted."

I had no idea how to respond to anything my mother had just said, so I just nodded and slowly closed my eyes.

"She almost looks like she _hasn't_ been sleeping for two days. What do you s'pose is wrong with her?" I heard Grandma say around a mouthful of pudding.

"She's tired, of course. We were so worried, Stephanie," I heard my mother say before I welcomed the ignorance of reality that unconsciousness so often granted me.

But then my eyes shot open.

I was sitting against the railing of my fire escape, staring into my apartment as smoke poured out the windows.

The scene was horrifying in itself; watching a home being swallowed by flames, no matter how seemingly inconsequential a home may seem, is a surrealism no one could be equipped to deal with.

What took my breath away, had me screaming and banging against the immobile panes of glass being penetrated by inexplicable smoke but not by my insistent pounding, lied beyond was rested sentimentally within the brick walls of my apartment.

I pounded away, trying to make it inside where I saw the crumpled image of a familiar man, burning in the center of my vacant, decimated home.

Ranger was curled upon himself, in as slight a position that a man his size could ever manage to ball into. And he was burning; staring at me, and burning, calm as ever.

I heard him begin to scream, a pained, tortured wail that echoed through my mind and caused a deep chill to run through the center of my bones.

Again and again he cried out as I flung my worthless body against the window, pounding and flailing about until I heard low, calmed speech, indecipherable but powerful in its tone nonetheless.

It was sort of like God was talking to me.

But it didn't sound like God should sound. I always imagined God sounded like Morgan Freeman or Sidney Poitier. This "God" voice mostly sounded like Tank. I began yelling for him, begging his voice for help, pleading with him to rescue the man we loved and cared for so much.

"Wake up, Stephanie," he demanded in a frustrated tone of voice.

When Tank speaks an order, the listener is bound to obey.

I opened my eyes to find myself pinned to the hospital bed by three black-clad Rangemen, Lester, Bobby, and Tank, while two wide-eyed nurses stood frozen in the corner of the room.

Before I could better myself, and even before Bobby and Lester had had a chance to release their hold on me, I was sobbing.

The restrictive hands softened and attempted to soothe, to no avail.

All I could do was mutter indistinct apologies for yet again stealing Rangeman priority.

Tank dismissed the nurses and sent Lester and Bobby out in the hall to resume their post outside my door.

"Are you all right?" Tank whispered as soothingly as he was capable of.

I wasn't sure how to answer that question, so I didn't. I just stared at him.

"Is there anything that you need? I don't understand what's going on with you."

I felt the tears still leaking from my eyes and shook my head in silent answer to his comment.

"We'll need an update on possible suspects as soon as you're ready to talk. The police are also looking for a statement, but we've managed to lower their expectations of any timely reply. Rangeman insists on assuming control of the operations behind this investigation; we have renewed, invested, personal interest in this matter."

I had always listened in wonderment to Tank when he spoke more than a hasty command or quick reply; even more so when he spoke of the company he worked for. Tank always described and spoke of Rangeman as if it were a living, breathing entity, rather than a well-oiled, tightly managed machine of hundreds of men of questionable backgrounds. In a sense, I understood it: Once you became a "Rangeman", you were a part of the entity itself; you were one within the brotherhood, and there was no going back. I likened it to the brotherhood of men in the military, though I would have known nothing of that personally.

Tank always said more in one sentence than it would take for an average man to say using an entire paragraph of words. "Invested personal interest" in relation to the Rangeman family only confirmed what I'd so suspected. Their own was gone, their commander, their leader, and now the battle was personal.

I only nodded in reply, as there was nothing else I could have done considering my airways were being obstructed by tubes and such.

"If you're comfortable with it, I'm going to have Vance come in and remove your trache so we can begin building some rapport with this case."

I nodded again and moved my eyes back up to the ceiling, listening to his footsteps retreating; it seemed easier to control the tears staring at nothing.

An hour later I knew the entire life story of a nervous Vance Vincent, who removed my trache as he explained how he'd been personally trying to process my blood tests to no avail. "They just aren't coming back conclusive," he explained matter-of-factly. He went on to explain his internship at the hospital, and how his Uncle George was allergic to grass and his Aunt Sharon had a fear of cotton balls, which is about the time I stopped even pretending I was listening to what he had to say.

When he'd finished and left, Joe had popped in and waved sadly at me from the doorway, mouthing that he had to go to work.

Alone, I couldn't even begin to start thinking about what had happened, let alone focus on the totally separate reasons for why I was being hospitalized.

And then there were all the other complications going on in my life, the ones that would have mattered had my entire world not just ended.

In the middle of my pity party, Tank strolled in, looking powerful and professional in the way only a leader of Rangeman could.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, pulling a chair up to the side of my bed from the corner.

"I'm alive," I rasped, feeling tears tug at the back of my throat.

He cleared his throat. "Ella and a team are in the process of sorting through your apartment, retrieving salvageable belongings. We're transporting necessities to Haywood for your usage and plan to store anything unessential elsewhere until we've uncovered the person behind the bombings, in which event you will then be able to relocate if you so choose, upon your convenience. Is there anything specific you're going to need?"

It wasn't a difficult question, but I had trouble sorting the words out and filtering them through my head so that they made sense.

"Stephanie?"

"Yeah. I- uh. Just Rex, I guess."

He lowered his head for a moment, but when he raised it again his eyes told me everything I didn't want to hear.

_Rex was gone, too._

I willed myself to contain the heavy tears threatening to undue me. I'd already done so much crying. It would make Tank feel uncomfortable, and it would be weak of me. Ranger wouldn't cry; crying was unproductive.

"We went back in after the building had been cleared by the fire department. His terrarium was knocked over. There's a chance he got out just fine," Tank said mechanically. I hadn't really expected him to say anything.

We both knew Rex was gone, but Tank was doing his best at attempting to ease my mind. That was a small kindness that I wouldn't have let go unnoticed.

But then, Tank continued. "I suppose it's best you know that some of the tenants also perished as a result of smoke inhalation. The woman who lived next door to you—"

"Mrs. Woleski."

Tank allowed me to process that.

"At least they're together now," I said softly. I met his eyes. "Her husband passed away about a week ago."

"Elaine Bestler, as well."

I nodded mechanically, being stronger than I felt. Or maybe emptiness was what I was feeling...

"Mrs. Bestler. I didn't even know her first name." The elevator ride up to my apartment was never going to be the same.

From there I was asked a broad array of questions, each of which I answered specifically and without question, even though the train of connections didn't completely register with all of them.

When it was clear he was done with the inquisition, I cleared my throat, attempting to make my voice sound normal when I spoke. It all came out deep and choked, anyway. "You know, Tank, you really don't have to do all of this. I know he probably told you to take care of me and all-" I cleared my throat again. "I mean, I'm not really Rangeman business anymore, Tank. This can all be handled with the police."

His expression was briefly one of confusion before the carefully constructed wall of stoicism slammed down, hiding it all.

I continued. "I know that it's something you feel you have to do. Like, in avengement or something. But I don't know if that's what he'd want. You know?"

"_Ranger_?" he asked deeply.

I nodded slowly because 'slow' was the only pace at which I could make my body respond. "I think- I mean, it's not like I would know what he thought or anything. But I think he'd want you to focus energies on preserving the best interests of Rangeman. The company won't run itself while you all go AWOL looking for whoever… you know?"

He stared at me for another moment and then, without another word, he lithely stood and left the room, leaving me alone again.

Without an audience, the flood came.

I sobbed, clutching a pillow to my face so as to stifle the loud, hysteric wailing I could hardly control.

"I'm so sorry!" I choked over and over again into the cool fabric. I felt my body wrack with sorrow and I attempted to purge it all, spill every last bit of sadness into this flat, stale, sorry excuse of a pillow. "Why would you leave me? I need you. I _needed_ you." My voice was now a whisper drowned out by the occasional inhale and whimpering exhale. "I can't do this without you. I'm so sorry. Please. Please. Please…"

I cried for Ranger; I cried for Rex. I cried for the women in my building who'd died because of me. I cried because I didn't have Morelli's shoulder and ear to empty it all out into. It was the first time I could ever remember feeling so alone, and I cried for the lonely, too.

And in the midst of my fit great, warm, comforting arms wound their way around my body and held me together, pressing my tight form into a ball and pushing the pillow closer to my face. I didn't even care which of them had decided to brave the storm of sorrow, I was just glad someone knew I needed to be held.

* * *

><p>AN

So, about loving me still...


	8. Aces and Eights

Dear People Who Read The Junk I Write,

I love you. And I'm horribly, terribly, disgustingly sorry that I killed off Mrs. Woleski, Mrs. Bestler, Rex, and Ranger in the last chapter. I can only imagine what you must think of me. For those of you sticking around, I'm sure that I've written a redeeming enough chapter to earn back your undying affection. Chapter nine is coming along swimmingly, with a boat-ton of interesting floating around in the plot. I'm scaring myself just writing it!

Have a great week everyone! I promise to post again as soon as life lets me!

Disclaimer: If any of this were actually mine, I wouldn't have bothered wasting two bucks on a lottery ticket last week.

* * *

><p>I'm not even sure how long we sat there; me with my quieter, though still encouraged with trembling, tears to a pillow, and he with his quiet, solid strength wrapped over me, holding me together when I surely should have fallen apart.<p>

It was all too much.

Eventually, I grew still and quiet and finally grew aware of the large, comforting hand stroking the top of my head, smoothing my hair, which was surely disgusting. It was such a tender gesture, so unexpected, especially from any of the men I had in my life.

I pulled the pillow away and felt his arms loosen a little to allow me space, but they did not release me; they were going to ensure that all the pieces were intact before letting me hold myself up. I wiped at my eyes and finally turned to him, red and snotty.

I found myself staring into eyes I knew better than my own; I had swam in their immeasurable depths, implored their deepest recesses, questioned every meaning behind every imploring gaze.

When he allows them to truly be seen, grants transparency to their viewer, Ranger has the deepest, darkest, most expressive eyes.

"Oh, my God," I whispered at him, abandoning the pillow in my lap and grabbing his face between my palms; I couldn't help but touch him myself.

"Am I dreaming?" I asked, quietly, honestly, my eyes dropping new, silent tears that I certainly couldn't have controlled.

He shook his head, stoic wall of control firmly in place.

"Do you promise?"

I could have sworn he thought about smiling, and then he nodded once.

"Am I dead?" I looked around the hospital room searching for a sign that this was truly real. "We aren't dead, right?"

His face hardened slightly and he shook his head shortly from side to side.

"Are you alright?"

He nodded again.

"Do you promise?"

Another nod. The one-sided conversation was getting old quickly.

"Will you please say something? It would make me feel a lot better to not be the only one talking… even though that's normally how it goes anyway."

A small, almost sad smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

"Babe," he rasped.

* * *

><p>I kept replaying my last scene of Ranger, his body falling to the floor in the inferno of my apartment, wondering how he'd gotten out. When I had finally asked, he explained that smoke rises, which I thought was a stupid explanation of why he'd collapsed, as if he was bragging about being tall or something. He futher explained that he and Hal had crawled to the hallway, which was far less smoke-filled than my apartment, and began running door to door in order to alert and rescue any tenants remaining in the building. Like Batman and Robin would have, only without the spandex.<p>

Ranger had been in the room next door to mine for less than six hours and had been released according to his primary care giver's assessment, rather than the one provided by the hospital that said he should have been under observation for at least 24 hours. Considering that Ranger's primary care physician works for him, I could only assume that his release was more likely than not completely against all medical recommendation, but was suggested under the pretense that Bobby likes being employed. Ranger has better things to do than sit in a hospital bed; you don't get medical leave from saving the world. Which was, apparently, why he wasn't bedside after I'd woken up- he hopped out of his hospital bed and dove right into assigning people to start figuring out who the hell blew us all up.

Four hours after seeing him again and allowing him to briefly explain to me in as few words as possible that he was just fine, not dead, and that Hal, too, would make a full recovery, I was released into the care of my legally falsified power of attorney, to Rangeman, to Ranger. As I didn't have one set up at all, mostly because avoiding any preparations for death is Plum custom, Tank had taken it upon himself to rustle up some documents that "I" had supposedly signed after the first Stiva case. Seeing the signature, I almost believed that I'd forgotten about signing them. Of course, I knew of Rangeman's resources better than to think that legitimate documentations ever rang of any sort of illegitimacy.

When we reached the seventh floor of Haywood, whose elevator and parking lot were strangely, and I assume deliberately vacant, an odd grey fog slipped in front of my eyes; even this miniscule detail was suddenly all too surreal:

I was now living in Ranger's apartment, where he'd never allowed any other woman to be except Ella. We didn't even discuss it; somehow it was just assumed. I supposed it was assumed because Morelli and I were no longer together—he had made it clear his door would always be open, but I had to close that offer timidly; that wound was still far too fresh. I couldn't stay at my parent's because my presence alone would put them in harm's way, "harm" referring to massive explosions that decimated my apartment building and everything inside, including my poor, defenseless hamster.

"Do you mind if I take a shower?"

He would probably be relieved to have had me shower; I was disgusting.

"You don't need to ask, Babe."

My words came out as a whisper. "I feel like I should ask."

He came up behind me and rested his large palms on the tops of my shoulders, his words breathy against the shell of my ear. "Unless there is something you need that isn't already available to you, there is no reason to. Consider what is mine, equally yours."

I nodded, not wholly investing in that concept until I stepped under the steaming waterfall pouring from his shower head. I then began to assume shared ownership to Ranger's bottle of Bulgari shower gel.

When I was dried, detangled, dressed, and thoroughly moisturized, I bundled my wet hair on top of my head and made my way to the dining room table where he sat with his laptop and a bottle of Fiji Water.

"Feeling better?" he asked, peeking up at me over the screen.

I nodded. "I think so."

He closed the face of the laptop and stood, watching me the whole time. He moved stealthily, as if I were his prey. When he was just close enough for me to touch, for me to catch several breaths of his godly scent, "Ella made soup," he said airily, clearing his throat, a characteristic I'd noticed he'd picked up after having inhaled so much smoke.

I followed him to the kitchen and watched him pointedly as he retrieved two bowls from the cabinet next to the refrigerator and proceeded to fill them with what looked like vegetables floating around in broth.

"We need to talk, don't we?" I asked.

He didn't turn to face me when he nodded; someone who knew him any lesser than I did wouldn't have caught it at all.

Dinner was delicious and quiet, both of us comfortable with the other despite the massive elephant looming between us.

He moved to the bedroom to shower, something I knew he was going to do even though he didn't mention it, and I worked to wash and dry the few dishes we'd used, along with the pot Ella had left, after I had deposited leftovers into the fridge. I took my time wiping down the counters and straightening things that were already immaculately straight before I forced myself into the bedroom.

He sat on his bed, body clad in only a pair of long, black, cotton shorts, his longish hair wet and loose, framing the hard beauty that was his face. He was leaning against the headboard, thumbing away at his cell phone—work never ceased for Ranger.

"Hey," I said from the doorway, hoping he'd somehow give me the courage to move one way or the other, in or out.

"Babe," he replied smoothly, not bothering to look up as he clicked away at his phone.

I wasn't even bothered by it, even though I should have been. It had been so long that I'd known him, I knew not to take it personally; he wasn't ignoring me, this was just who he was.

Eventually, after a few moments, he set his phone on the night stand and looked to me, raising an eyebrow, his mouth poised in amusement.

"Am I being stupid?" I asked. It's not like I'd never shared a bed with Ranger, or a kiss, or any long nights of passionate lovemaking. For some reason, perhaps because I knew I had nowhere to escape to, I felt nervous, out of place.

He shook his head. "You aren't stupid."

"I know I'm not stupid, but am I being stupid?"

"Yes. Come here and I promise not to bite… hard." His smile was evil and broad.

"No funny business," I muttered as I walked to the bed and climbed up, assuming the same position he was in.

"Nothing about anything that happens in my bed is ever 'funny'; I'm not a 'funny business' kind of man."

I faux laughed, though I thought he'd genuinely been funny. "I think you're hilarious," I told him sarcastically.

His smile grew.

For some reason, with only the bathroom light illuminating the room, it was much easier for me to clear my head and focus, for me to talk about all the things plaguing me to a man whose problems outweighed mine in the same way his bank account did. I knew I could talk to him; I had to talk to him. My nerves slowly floated away.

That is, until he uttered his first question.

"Why aren't you at Morelli's?"

The sentence hung there between us, loud and cumbersome.

_Why aren't you at Morelli's?_

I felt my throat clench but begged by body to remain calm.

"I can leave if you want me to, Ranger. I know how much burden I've caused you with all of this and I honestly cannot begin to apologize enough—"

His head moved in my periphery and his left arm reached over to my thigh, halting my words.

I gave him a moment to gather his thoughts, knowing that was what was happening in the silence.

"You are always welcome here, always in this home, always with me, always in my bed, no matter what. I just wondered why, if you were back together with him, you would choose to come here."

"I'm not."

There was silence.

I decided to elaborate on that, to further clarify so that there was no confusion. "I'm not back together with Morelli."

There was more silence before he cleared his throat and changed the subject. "I assume you briefed Tank on everything he needed to know."

It had been an awkward transition from what we'd been talking about, but I wasn't going to push it.

"Uh, yeah. Everything I know, Tank knows."

"Good. I have a meeting at 0700. You're welcome to stay here and rest, report to your desk, or leave if you need to. Know that I'll have a team on you if you decide to leave the property."

There was a deafening silence, and then he turned towards the nightstand nearest him and opened the drawer slowly before plucking out a small, velvet jewelry box.

"Stephanie," he sighed. "I wanted to do this at a better time, but we aren't offered many of those. I need to give you something, and I don't want you to bitch about it."

The expletive caught me off guard, but I didn't say anything.

He turned towards me and opened the box.

I gasped loudly and girlishly in a way that I'm sure my mother would have been proud of.

Ranger was exceptional at conversational whiplash.

Nestled inside the smooth satin was a pair of identical post earrings. They were simple, black gems, cushion cut, set in silver framework. I immediately loved everything about them, because I understood their design. They were _us_, and they were perfect.

"They're black tourmaline set in white gold," he said, grabbing one between his fingers and moving to place it in my ear. "I find it a much more appropriate fit for me and you, compared to opal," he smiled as he rattled off our birthstones and slid the post expertly into place. "Consider them an early Christmas gift, or a late birthday gift, whichever makes you feel more comfortable accepting them."

My hands rested lightly atop his as he placed the second earring in my ear. "Ranger… I can't… This is really too much."

He kissed the side of my head. "No, it isn't."

I stared at him for a long time, not allowing myself to cry at this cherished, though quite uncharacteristic, display of affection.

"They're beautiful," I said, choking on my words. "I love… them."

I didn't mean to allude to loving anything, or anyone, else. My voice broke, and it's simply how everything came out…

"I love them, too," he said seriously, his eyes not leaving mine.

I moved to my knees and slowly bent my head towards his, asking permission like I always felt I needed to. His left hand moved to the back of my head in encouragement.

It was a sensual moment. There was a strange lightness in the affection that was uncommon for us. But foreign made it all the more fantastic. My bottom lip nestled in-between his and pillowed against the very tip of his tongue. He stared into my eyes, balancing a control I had never possessed, as I closed my own against the fiery sensation of his gaze on me and his mouth against mine.

It wasn't hurried or hot, wasn't leisurely and passionate; it was measured sensuality, and I reveled in the intoxicating feel of it. I slipped my tongue forward to kiss his, and almost cried at the contact.

"Thank you," I muttered, pulling back just far enough to breathe the words, my lips still brushing against his.

"Babe," he sighed, his breathing as labored as my own, which was a feat in itself if you considered the fact that the man could run miles without getting winded.

He slid down and turned to his side, pulling the covers around his hips, effectively ending a conversation that hardly happened.

I did the same, scooting into him and pressing the length of my back along his solid front. He was so warm, so reassuring with his presence alone; if I was safe nowhere else, I was safe here.

His arms wrapped over me, their weight an additional comfort.

"I don't want you to take them off. Keep them on always." His tone was pleading despite his demanding words.

I nodded against him. "I can do that."

Wrapped in his arms and in the darkness that enveloped us both, our straining relationship underneath the force of all that had been thrust upon us seemed more secure than it would have in the light of day. It was the right time, the only time I had, to tell him about how utterly petrified I'd been after waking in the hospital to the idea of being without him.

"Ranger," I whispered, rubbing the hand that rested against my stomach, "Do you have any idea how terrified I was, thinking I'd lost you?" I whispered.

I felt his impossibly firm body stiffen at my words, felt the tension I never saw him display bundle through him.

"I thought you were gone, and I had no idea what to do with myself. It was so awful. I'm not sure… I don't think I could ever know how to live without you."

Most men would placate, because that was their job.

_You'll never have to worry about that. _

_I'll always be here. _

_I'll never leave you._

I didn't expect this from Ranger; he's not most men.

In fact, I didn't expect him to say anything. I knew he'd listened, and that was enough. I was perfectly content with the tightening of his arms around my body as a response, so I was surprised to hear the profound baritone of his words break through the quiet moments later.

His voice was deep as the blackness around us and soft as velvet. "You would know," he breathed, cementing his words with an array of light, wet kisses to the side of my neck before we both welcomed the ignorance of slumber.


	9. Naught Nine

A/N:

I think that I am obligated by my humanity to let each of you know that on my absolutely terrible days, it's really remarkable the difference that a few kind words impact my self-esteem. In total honesty, it's been a really hard couple weeks, and I've found an incredible outlet through these characters and am astounded at being able to feel the overwhelming support so many of you have expressed to me as of late- there's no better feeling, as a writer, than having your readers invest themselves personally with your characters. So... I guess where I'm going with all this is... thanks for caring? I think that's the best way I can put it all.

Okay now. Away from the heavy and back to businesses!

This chapter is a longer one (you're welcome), but that means they'll be a little bit more time between now and the next post. But I promise to be back soon (pinky promise!).

This chapter is also _really_ heavy, so please be aware of the M rating that I'm sure all of you already knew about. I don't get terribly graphic, but there are some themes that might be uncomfortable for some to read.

Anyways, thanksabunch for being awesome human beings.

And for those of you that celebrate Easter and Passover, hope you all had a nice one. ;)

Disclaimer: 'Snot mine.

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><p>I had been at Rangeman for a week, only leaving Haywood to attend the funerals and showings of Mrs. Woleski and Mrs. Bestler, which Ranger had also gone to despite having to sit next to Grandma Mazur during both funeral services, and to check in with Connie at the bonds office. I'd made one venture to a family dinner to show my mother that I was well enough for lasagna and chocolate dipped biscotti, which meant I was fully recovered in the eyes of the Plum's.<p>

I had gone back to work for Rangeman the day after I'd returned from the hospital, and was able to apprehend several skips with the help of the black-clad posse that followed me everywhere I went. Lula liked having them around in the beginning.

"Somethin' nice and fine to watch while we're out kickin' ass!" she'd said.

But as the week progressed, I think her appreciation of them wore out; she wasn't getting a whole lot of action as far as take-downs were concerned.

My living arrangements were _nice_…?

Ranger had been a perfect gentleman, an easy-to-live-with roommate, a supportive friend, a 24/7 dedicated boss—which I suppose he always had been, just never so much to me before. Anyone else would have been fine living with him, but something was missing for me, something I could barely define. It was as if our friendship had become very… platonic… _polite_. Friendship isn't supposed to be _polite_ after three years. It's supposed to be _real_. And as of late, we didn't feel _real_. There was something wrong between us and as it wasn't coming from my end, I smartly deduced there was something bothering Ranger.

But, I was too chicken to ask him about it, of course.

And then there were my sleeping arrangements, which seemed to have only been slightly affected by the strange niceties exchanged between me and my roommate. In the dark, under the covers, pressed close together, we were perfect. The only problem… probably shouldn't even have been considered a problem...

He wouldn't let me kiss him.

Or at least, that's the impression I was getting. And maybe that has nothing to do with sleeping, but any contact we have that isn't completely strange happens after we've gone to bed, and the oddly safe "kissing zones" are abnormal for our relationship. He'd lay kisses across my shoulders, my back, my entire face, he had even ventured across my collar bones. But the man wouldn't dare kiss my mouth.

Some might have asked: "Stephanie Plum, what does this have to do with anything? Friends don't kiss friends anyway."

My answer to them would be to explain that despite the fact that Ranger and I were always friends… Ranger and I were _never_ friends. Anytime I've ever called him my friend was no lie, but it _was_ all at the same time. For people that couldn't possibly understand, people too narrow to see the vastness of our relationship, it's a perfectly reasonable explanation of our bond. But we aren't conventional people; we do not fit into the pretty little categories of boxed definitions people so crave. We're not good in the mold.

So, the more Ranger started acting like we were… _friends_, the more concerned I became.

And if I was being honest, talking to, like really, rawly talking and dangerously, passionately kissing Ranger hadn't been near what all I had been missing.

It had been a week that I'd shared his bed. No heavy-petting sessions. No impolite advances that were truthfully more craved than not. Not one Ranger-induced orgasm was even half-way attempted.

I didn't even know why Ella bothered changing the sheets…

And then there was the whole "someone's trying to kill me but we don't even know who possibly might be involved in such a scheme because nothing's turning up and we have no suspects" thing…

A week and Rangeman still had nothing. This guy was either really good, or was done messing with me.

I was really hoping for the latter.

I was currently on my way to my apartment building to check the progress of the reconstruction. I hadn't been back since the night of the explosion, but from what I'd heard, the majority of the damage had been done to my apartment and to Mr. Garrison's apartment across the hall. The entire building had still been vacated regardless, until Dillon could repair the damage caused by smoke from the fire and the water from extinguishing it.

When I got there, the back door was locked. I motioned to Tank, who looked like a statue, and Lester, who looked bored, that I was going around front. They nodded simultaneously and hopped out, following me around the building so that nobody blew me up.

The front of the building was unlocked and I made my way upstairs where a team of construction workers were banging away at the walls, tearing pieces away and letting them fall to the floor in giant, heaping plops of wallpaper, drywall, and insulation.

I looked around, deciding that it was stupid to have come and see my home in ruins, and headed back for the stairs with Tank and Lester following behind.

"How long do you think it will take to fix?" I asked aloud.

Before either of them answered, I ran into Dillon at the bottom of the stairs, smacking my face directly into his and falling to the ground, breaking my fall with his body.

"Ow!" he said, laughing and groaning at the same time.

"Oh, my gosh! I'm so sorry!" I yelled and then groaned against the pain in my face.

I tried to get up but could hardly feel my arms. It hadn't been but a few seconds before I felt hands around my biceps hoisting me to my feet.

"Thanks," I muttered to Tank as Lester grabbed Dillon's hand and pulled him up.

"Nice to see a familiar face around here," he said, rubbing his cheekbone where my forehead had hit him.

"I thought I'd come to see how far along they've gotten."

"Missing me already?" he asked, flashing me a smile.

I laughed.

"How have you been? I heard you were in the hospital."

I shrugged. "I'm fine. Getting back into the swing of things."

"You staying with your mom and dad?"

I shook my head. "Rangeman made accommodations for me until I can get back in here."

He nodded. "I'm guessing another couple weeks and everything should be in tip-top shape. I bet you're missing being your own space."

I nodded. "Something like that."

"Dillon?"

The four of us turned in unison like cartoon characters.

A woman stood in the doorway, a giant smile on her delicate face. She was tall and shapely, with long wavy blonde hair and big, green eyes. Her features were immaculate, perfectly built and perfectly placed. She looked as if she'd just stepped off a magazine cover, retouching and all.

"Liz!" Dillon replied, obviously nervous. Probably because she was completely gorgeous in that "you should probably hate yourself because of how perfect I am," sort of way.

She walked to him and kissed him lips closed and full on the mouth. Tank looked normal and stoic; Lester kept shifting his feet back and forth, anxious to be watching hot blonde lip action, but not receiving any.

_Poor Lester..._

They separated, Dillon looking strangely nervous. He rested his arm across her shoulders as he spoke. "Stephanie, this is my sister Elizabeth. Lizzie, Stephanie Plum."

_As if the mouth-kiss hadn't been totally fucking awkward before I knew you were siblings…_

"It is very nice to meet you," she said, embracing me in a hug that caught me off guard.

"Oh! You, too," I told her.

"You're like a celebrity!" she said stepping back, holding my shoulders, and giggling. "The Bombshell Bounty Hunter! You're always in the paper somewhere. Oh, plus Dilly always has something nice to say about the infamous Stephanie Plum, even if you keep blowing stuff up in his parking lot and all." At this, she laughed riotously, as if she'd just heard the funniest joke ever told.

"Oh, yeah... Really, I hardly ever blow something up myself. Most of what you hear isn't entirely true."

"Oh, I know that _now_! They're always saying how fat you are. Rolls and rolls of fat, you know? You aren't even all that fat!" She giggled loudly again.

The look on Lester's face made me consider punching him in the gut, but I figured that his retaliation would be one I wouldn't be able to handle.

Then I was trying to decide if she was as dumb as she looked. Her comments could either be construed as compliments or insults, and I wasn't quite sure which she was aiming for. She certainly had Burg manners mastered; my mother would have been proud.

"They call me _fat_ in the _papers_?"

"Burg gossip, you know? Never know _what_ to believe! Nobody ever tells it how it really is, I suppose…"

I glanced at Dillon who looked mortified. His sister's lack of social etiquette was probably why he'd seemed so nervous before. She wasn't exactly one I'd like to tote around cocktail parties.

"Who's that?" She stage whispered to me so that all four of us could hear her as she motioned to Lester.

Lester stepped forward with a stupid, cocky grin that I assume most women, under the pretense of his stupidly, insanely good looks, would find endearing. I was busy thinking of ways to describe said grin so I could make fun of him for it later.

"Lester Santos," he said in a deep baritone while reaching for her hand.

She laid it in his without shaking. "Pleasure," she giggled.

"You seeing anyone?" Lester asked. I assumed that even if she was, his charms would make her forget that.

_Who goes right from "Hello" to "Wanna hook up?"_

"I could be."

"You have a phone number?"

She giggled some more before rattling it off to him; they were still holding hands without shaking.

"You should call me."

"Only if you promise to answer," he replied, which started a whole new fit of giggling.

Between Dillon, Tank, and myself, I was betting on one of us stepping outside to vomit.

"Santos," I could hear the warning in Tank's voice. Apparently he was done listening to the two of them as much as I was.

"Yeah, we really should get going, Liz. I have to be back here after lunch, before the contractor gets here."

She nodded, still staring at Lester.

Gracelessly, a form that I'd followed since childhood, I turned and walked out the front doors, only waving in goodbye as I stepped over the threshold.

"See ya, Dillon! Nice to meet you, Elizabeth!"

Seconds later I was flanked by Tank and Lester, who Tank had taken it upon himself to shove out the door behind me.

"That was so… _cheesy_!" I laughed.

"_Charming_, you mean," Lester countered, a big, goofy grin spread all over his face.

"I'm not sure I like her," Tank mentioned, which surprised me because a) she was super nice, even overtly so and b) Tank had spoken without provocation.

"You must have been paying too much attention to what she was saying and not enjoying the _spectacular_ view."

"You are a disgusting man, Lester Santos," I told him, smiling so he would know that I liked him anyway.

"It's in my biology. You can't blame me for something I have no control over."

"Tank wasn't being a sleeze, and he's a man, too."

"Tank doesn't have Manoso blood egging on the raunchy thoughts I know he was having."

I fished in my pocket for the keys for the Turbo as I prayed to the muses to give me an argument that could allude to Ranger being a gentleman. Ranger, in his heart of hearts, probably just like Lester, is a true gentleman. But I know better than most the allure of Ranger's less-gentlemanly provocations, and they're characteristics and charms far too perfect to be anything other than inborn.

"Nothing to say to that, Beautiful?"

I sighed in frustration and stormed towards the Porsche. "I need some chicken."

Fifteen minutes later I had two buckets of extra crispy Mr. Cluck's chicken, one in each arm, as I walked my way into the bonds office flanked by two men who looked like the only time they ever ate chicken was when it was in embryonic form in a protein shake or if it was boiled in water and placed on top of a very large salad.

"I knew Steph would come through for lunch. Didn't I tell you Steph would come through for lunch?" Lula said to Connie as she fixed her makeup in a small, leopard printed compact mirror. "Hey, Tankie," she said, looking up at Tank for just a moment.

"Hello, Lester. Hello, Stephanie," Connie said sarcastically, smiling with the rest of us at Lula only greeting Tank.

Lula huffed. "Some people just get extra respects is all. Saying "hi" to just one of you is a basic implication that I said "hi" to everybody. Plus, Tank and I, we've got a special relationship. I say hello, and I know he means hello back even though he didn't say it."

"Isn't that just how it works… you know, in general for everyone?"

"You want some chicken or not, Connie? This is just the way things are. I don't make respecting rules. Anyone seeing me making respecting rules? Hand me a leg, Steph."

Napkins and chicken parts were passed around, normal conversations ensued. Everything was typical of a friendly, bounty-huntering luncheon with slightly unique colleagues. That is, until Lula was finished eating and tried her attempt at "light" conversation.

"So, how's the… you know," she made a half circle shape over her belly.

I watched Tank's face go blank, while Lester's eyes went wide for the briefest of seconds until his expression matched Tank's almost completely.

"I. Am Not. Pregnant."

"You're pregnant?" Vinnie's voice from the office bellowed before the door swung open.

"No! And where have you been? I haven't seen you in weeks."

"You wired my desk again?" Connie yelled and muttered "rat bastard" under her breath as she began searching for the bug.

"I had a family emergency. How come no one told me you were pregnant?" Vinnie asked.

"We figured if you was into ducks, there might be a chance you was into pregnant ladies. They kinda walk like ducks, you know?"

The room was silent for several seconds, no one knowing how to respond to that.

"She's my cousin…"

"Didn't stop you from tryin' to get you some at her wedding…"

I turned pointedly to the very stoic, suddenly all-business Merry Men. "I'm not pregnant."

They both glanced at the other but made no response.

"Who did it?" Vinnie asked.

"Did what?" I asked.

"Found it, you parasite! You put it under my chair? You'll have to be more original than that!" Connie yelled at Vinnie, throwing the bug at him, hitting him in the shoulder with it.

"Who knocked you up? It's not like you can do it yourself…" he asked, ignoring Connie.

"I'm leaving!" I said, unable to deal with no one listening to me.

"It's Morelli's!" Lula said excitedly. "Can you imagine what a nice-looking baby this is gonna be? We could probably get free diapers from one of those baby companies 'cause this baby's gonna be so nice-looking."

I was out the door, purse over shoulder, Rangemen following silently at my heels.

When I reached the Porsche, I stopped and stared at a rose and a manila envelope lying across the windshield.

I grabbed the rose and turned so quickly I almost made Tank run into me, and Lester into Tank.

"Okay," I clippedly said, preparing myself for a long, ranting speech I was knowingly using as a scapegoat to the embarrassment I was feeling over the conversation I'd just left. "He treats me like a pariah all week and then starts back up with the roses again? _What the hell_? Don't get me wrong, I like the whole notes and flowers thing. But if he expects anything from me, I have no idea what the fuck it is. Honestly, how am I supposed to feel about this? Is this situation some kind of 'actions speak louder than words' gig? I'm totally not getting the message either way. You think he'd just say something! For once in our entire _fucking_ relationship it's his turn to talk. I'm sick of it!"

Both men stared at me wide-eyed before Lester spoke. "You think _Ranger's_ leaving you flowers?"

"We were under the assumption that they were from… someone… else…" Tank added.

I stared dumbly at the two of them. I honestly had no idea how to respond to them.

There were now two scenarios presented to me that I hadn't totally considered before. Either Ranger had been sending me roses and notes and no one from Rangeman knew about it. I say no one, because if any _one_ person was going to know about it, it would have been Tank.

Or… they weren't from Ranger.

I reached back over the windshield and grabbed the manila envelope from under the wipers.

"Of course they're from Ranger," I muttered as I ripped open the seal.

When I saw what was inside, I had to swallow the bile that rose up my throat.

Inside I'd discovered a set of photographs, a total of three, which I flipped through tenuously, as if they would shatter under my stare.

The first was obviously taken of me when I was sick, as there were tissues strewn about my body in a disgusting mess. I was lying on my stomach, sleeping, wearing a pair of lime boyshorts and a Rangeman tee-shirt.

TThe second was more disturbing, taken while I was in the shower. The outline of my body was clearly visible, showing that I was washing my hair, despite the poor quality of the photograph due to steam fogging up the corners of the lens.

I shivered, a chill verberating through my bones as tears welled hotly in my eyes. I could hear violent screams of protest in the back of my mind-

_This couldn't be happening to me._

In the third photograph, the one I stared at the longest, I was sleeping again, lying on my back this time. Though I was wearing my too-small black cotton shorts, which should have been more conservative than the underwear from the first picture, they didn't conceal much. This time, a different Rangeman shirt, one that I'd stolen from Ranger just a few weeks prior, was shoved up over my breasts, exposing me completely. Even the indecency wasn't what bothered me most; the photographer, judging from the angle that the picture was taken, would have had to have been straddling my body to achieve the shot.

"Are you all right, Steph?"

I looked up, clutching the photographs to my chest to hide them from the strangely concerned-looking men in front of me.

I choked back the sour lump in my throat, but was unable to alleviate any of the tightness from my chest.

"Not from Ranger," I said breathily as I shook my head back and forth several times, trying to erase the images from my mind. I

"Morelli?" Tank asked deeply, suddenly taking charge of a situation I was quickly losing control over.

I shook my head again, not really looking at anything particular, just avoiding their eyes.

"I think there's writing on the back," Lester said while Tank pulled out his cell phone.

I flipped them over, careful to keep the pictures facing the ground where neither of them would be able to see.

I leaned against the Porsche, not trusting my knees to support me. Somewhere in the background I heard Tank reporting into his phone.

The back of the first photograph was blank.

I scanned the back of the second.

_I find it very difficult not to join you. You are so exquisite, so radiant, so wet. I have sat here before, watched you touch yourself and shiver with pleasure. You won't tonight, but I'll watch regardless._

I felt my breaths coming shallower. Like a masochist, I turned to the last, most disturbing of the images and read his final note.

_I love that I've enabled you to sleep so deeply. You make the most erotic noises in your slumber, so unaware, just as you do when you eat. When I graze you, brush my lips over your nipples and mouth, your breathy moans grow louder. I cannot fully please you for fear of waking you, despite your heavy sleeping aid. But still, you writhe under me, uttering a name that is not my own. I am not offended, my love. I have known you longer than he has; he is not here, not making you feel what I make you feel. I know that you are more mine than you are his, and soon you will know that, too._

"Oh, my God," I whispered over and over again.

The pools in my eyes threatened to spill as I frantically searched for a way to escape my thoughts and the reality of the situation that I'd just been presented with. I slipped the photographs back into the envelope and held them tightly to my chest.

"We're going to Haywood," Tank said as he slid his phone into his pocket.

I shook my head, unable to move, or think, or speak.

_Haywood?_

"Would you like one of us to drive your vehicle?"

I looked between the two of them, clutching the terrible photos to my body; I felt so small and vulnerable between the two of them, knowing every privacy I'd ever taken advantage of had been violated. I knew I was safe here, with them, but knowing it still didn't mean I _felt_ it. The damage had already been done… and memorialized.

Just then, Lula burst out of the bonds office. "You just gonna walk out on lunch while we're tryin' to have a perfectly nice conversation?"

The two of them stared at her; I stared at the air around her.

"Uh-oh. Who got shot?"

I looked at Lula directly, and then looked over Tank's shoulder.

"I need…" My words caught.

What did I need? I couldn't imagine sitting in a vehicle, being confined. I was so bottled already, so unable to contain the strange energies inside of me.

"What do you need, Steph?" Lester asked.

I shoved the envelope in Lula's direction. "Please do not open this; don't let anyone else, either. Go with Tank to Haywood and give it to Ranger."

She took it. "Shouldn't I get to look if I'm guarding it?"

I didn't answer her; I'd already turned and started running away from it all.


	10. Tears Tenfold

Disclaimer: This isn't mine. If it had been, I would have ensured that Ranger were perpetually naked.

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><p>I never really understood Ranger's attraction to running, or any form of exercise, as a general enjoyment. I actually never understood running as anything other than a "healthy" form of personal torture.<p>

Really, I had assumed that he did it solely for the purity and benefit of his glorious temple of a body.

_Until this moment._

It had _nothing_ to do with preserving physicality.

It was power over mentality.

I now knew that it was about the pacing of his breath, the drumming of his heart, the warmth flooding his muscles; the control and strength of his body, though exhilarating in a painful way for _me_, was the appeal; it allowed you to escape.

Running—it forced me to focus on the physical state of my body and allowed me to figuratively outrun the demons plaguing my concentrations. I was free and in control of that freedom, because I knew it would last as long as I kept moving.

I'm not sure how long I ran, or even how far, but after enough time had passed for my legs to start burning, I heard a long, measured pace coming up behind me. I pumped faster, pushed harder, even after realizing that I recognized the step behind me. Tears sprang to my eyes, because I knew that no matter how fast I ran, escaping any feeling for the man behind me was utterly impossible.

The legs fell in long, fast strides, even in tempo in a manner that is difficult to explain. I liken it to the way one would expect any military man to run. Ranger's runner's-step is unmistakable.

I was panting hard and sweating in large, salty droplets. But the pain was real, and I welcomed it, _needed_ it to erase the emotions that I wasn't ready to deal with.

We ran away from our own problems, together in physicality, but separated by many evils of circumstance. Or maybe he was chasing me, as he remained following, rather than joining next to me, allowing me to escape on my own, but not alone.

I suppose running can be likened to how our relationship had always been; even when we were together, we were alone. And alone, we were still together.

It was a very long time, at least that I can recall, before I stopped moving, very suddenly, without really willing myself to.

I just stopped.

In the middle of the sidewalk in a neighborhood that I didn't recognize, I stopped and stared at the perspective view in front of me.

He halted directly behind me.

For extended moments, the only sound between us was our ragged panting.

"Babe?" he finally said, putting a hand on my shoulder.

I leaned backwards into his body, but refused to look at him; I couldn't look at him yet.

"You didn't leave me the roses," I said breathily, still fighting the burning of my lungs.

"No," he replied, though both of us knew he didn't need to. "We'll find out who did."

"I thought it was you. You always leave me a single rose for my birthday, for Christmas and for Valentine's Day," and then another detail dawned on me and I sighed internally. "You thought the last one was from Morelli, the one you saw in the apartment the day of the explosion. That's why you asked me about being back together with him."

He didn't answer; we both understood his silence was confirmation enough.

We stood like that for a while more.

"Did you see the envelope?

"It will be in my office when we get to Haywood. I didn't want you to be alone."

I decided that this was a good thing on a number of levels.

There was more standing, more leaning against him for support. My lungs were still burning from the unexpected exertion, but I'd managed to catch my breath.

"What do you want to do, Babe?"

I considered answering reasonably, but couldn't. "I want to stand here forever, right in this spot with you, and forget everything that's supposed to be right but isn't."

"You would get tired of standing," he said, a tentative smile playing in his voice.

"You would hold me up, Batman." I leaned further into him and left a certain emphasis on his name.

His arms fell over my shoulders and pulled me close as he moaned in affirmation. "In that case, that sounds perfectly fine to me."

We could have stayed in that very position for all of eternity. But life doesn't stop for anyone, no matter what's going on around them; and business never stops for Ranger.

After a long time the cell phone in his pocket began to buzz, which scared me as it vibrated against the cheek of my ass. We both laughed as I jumped away and then returned like a yo-yo to the safety of his body, winding my arms around his waist this time, finally facing him eye-to-eye.

"Yo," he answered, using his free hand to brush back the hair from my face as we stared at one another for the first time since he'd started following me. He listened to an entire speech of information, which made me wonder which of the Merry Men was talking so much.

"Marchenko is a go," Ranger finally replied, still staring into my eyes. I wondered how he was able to focus on his conversation and search through the recesses of my mind at the same time. "File the paperwork and have them sign it tomorrow morning. Secondly, I need you to call Bobby and let him know that if I can have him working the control room tonight, he can have that Friday shift off. For the Jorgensen case, make a note for the morning shift to call Hector in for Flir analysis; he's the only one who works those and I won't be liable for any miscommunications. Tell Ram he can meet Tank on the mats at 0400 for that one. As for the final matter, we'll discuss it at tomorrow's briefing. I want Rodriguez to bleed from his eyes before he steps away from that computer."

With that, he ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

"We can't stand here forever," I said, looking up at him and feeling more secure than I thought was normal.

"No, we can't."

* * *

><p>It's no secret that that night I had slept upstairs on floor seven, Ranger's apartment, high above the city of lights and sounds that were so familiar, yet so dark compared to the place I'd lived my entire life.<p>

When we'd returned to Haywood in the Cayenne, I don't know whether or not anyone expected me to accompany Ranger to five to review the contents of the manila envelope, a collage of photographs that I was still unable to speak about. But I wasn't there; I didn't show.

I went straight to seven and buried my salty body in a mountain of soft, perfect sheets, and drowned my mind in the comfort of slumber.

Ranger left me to the safety of his chambers to face the evidence himself, kissing my shoulder and whispering a soft "Babe" against my skin, before disappearing through the doorway like smoke.

* * *

><p>It was just after two in the morning when I awoke to cool sheets beside me and an empty apartment.<p>

I dressed quickly, tossing on a pair of charcoal colored sweatpants of mine and a black tee shirt of Ranger's over my body. I slipped on my boots on my way out the door.

It wass completely irrational to go looking for him at such a late hour, but I didn't want to be alone; I'd felt alone for too long, and wanted at least the comfort of his body next to mine while I slept. I felt entitled to that much after the events of the afternoon.

I made my way down to five, a floor constantly bustling with the noises of intelligent superhero-like men planning and plotting on how to take down the bad guys. Tonight, though, I was greeted only by the humming of computers and a small waves from four young men that I didn't recognize monitoring the control room.

I made my way to his office, which I found eerily dark and empty.

I walked back to the control room.

"Excuse me?" I asked, not really directing my words at any particular one of them.

The youngest of the group, who looked probably 18 or 19 at the very most, inclined his head to show he was listening, but did not take his eyes off of the screens in front of him. He was firmly built, if a little lanky, and had shaggy, curling hair the color of pennies. A long, ragged scar ran down the right side of his face from his temple to his jawline, but he was attractive nonetheless.

"I'm looking for Ranger," I announced.

"Basement," he replied with a lilt in his voice.

"Thanks."

_Of course he would be in the gym at two a.m.…_

And that's where I found him.

The elevator doors opened opposite where he was sitting against the wall, forearms resting atop his raised knees. His hands were taped for punching and his shirt was drenched under the arms and in a 'V' shape down the front of his chest.

I watched the hard, heavy fall and rise of his breathing as I approached, and began to notice the streams of sweat pouring down his face and into his collar.

I stood in front of him, waiting for his vacant eyes to find my face. When they did, I nearly crumbled.

Not because of the pain or vulnerability behind his eyes, but because I found none at all; all I saw was stone, and it tore me to pieces.

"Hey," I said, squatting in front of him so that we were eye-level. "Come to bed," I told him, attempting to sound stronger than the front he was putting up.

He didn't answer. He just continued to vacantly stare at me. It was evident he'd seen the photographs, and was using exercise as his scapegoat, which is what he does for everything.

Of all the times I've seen Ranger act on baser survival instincts to keep us alive, or known him to have been involved with killing another human being, or of the instances he'd come to me haunted by the events of a mission he'd just returned from, I'd never been afraid of him, or what he was capable of, because I knew without a doubt that he'd keep me safe, that he and I were going to be okay.

I had a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. Something was wrong, and I was suddenly quite afraid for where this was going to end up.

"Please don't look at me like that. Please come to bed. We can deal with this together in the morning."

Without answering, he rose lithely to his feet, keeping eye contact with me.

I stood too and waited for him to make a way for the elevator.

But he didn't.

He just stood there and stared.

"Please—"

"We can't do this, Stephanie."

I was frozen for a few moments, stunned by words I didn't completely understand.

"What are you talking about? I'll sleep on the couch if you don't—"

"I think that our personal relationship has escalated into territory that is… _inappropriate_." His stance was tall and masculine, as if he were posturing me in order to make me submissive to this idea.

Any confusion or hurt I was feeling mutated into hot, uncontainable anger— I don't _do_ submissive.

But still, I suppose it wasn't anger.

No.

Anger was the wrong word.

_Passion_.

All the emotions that washed through me rushed together in a violent passion.

_Passion_ was coursing through me, and I was going to let it voice itself loudly; I wouldn't have been able to fight back otherwise.

"_No_," I said, pointing an accusatory finger into his chest. "You _do not_ get to do this. You do not get to decide that this… this _relationship_ we have, however you want to define it, is over just because you're afraid or confused or overwhelmed with all of this. This is _not_ something you get to do on your own—_especially_ after today."

"The subject really isn't up for discussion. I just thought that you should be aware that our relationship needs to undergo some drastic—"

"You listen to me, Ricardo Carlos Manoso. I don't care who you are, or even who you _think_ you are. I don't care about your boat loads of money or your drool-worthy face, or your _stupid_ muscles. I don't give one _flying fuck_ about who you are to the military or to the government and I don't give a shit that you're in charge of an army of ex-military… security… assassin… mercenaries—or whatever. I really don't even care if you consider yourself my boss." My finger continued poking his chest for emphasis. "But you need to get it through your head right now that you are in no _way, shape_, or _form_ the sole executor of me or your relationship with me. _This_, no matter how much you don't want it to be or how much you fight it, is a partnership. You don't make executive decisions in a friendship, Ranger."

He crossed his arms over his massive chest, knocking my finger back.

"_I_ can't do this, Stephanie."

I put my hands on top of his folded forearms and attempted to soften my tone, tried a different approach.

"We can get through this stuff, okay? It's just another bump. Don't do this. Please don't leave me now. I need this..."

He unfolded his arms and grabbed the tops of my shoulders, turning our bodies and slamming me into the cushioned wall he'd just been leaning against. I was surprised, a little shaken, but mostly unhurt. His hands moved to trap me between them, his strong palms splayed against the wall behind me.

"I'm trying to tell you, Stephanie, that this is something I can no longer do with you."

"What is _'this'_ supposed to mean, Ranger?" I said, my voice as loud as his was quiet. "Do _you_ even know? How are we supposed to render a relationship we can't even define?"

"We have to."

"You owe me a reason."

He stared at me firmly and I watched his hard eyes bare into me while he thought.

"I do not."

I leaned my face forward; he was close enough to kiss. It wasn't until this moment that I noticed how intimately pressed our bodies were. Any other conversation and we'd be a couple pairs of pants and a wiggle or two away from some hot gym sex.

"You are afraid."

His wall fell then, displaying so much pain, frustration, so much angry hate that I was frightened for just a moment—then I remembered I was staring at my friend, my love, my constant protector, _Ranger_.

"Of course I'm afraid," he replied, his voice deathly quiet. It was the equivalence of a loud, violent tantrum for Ranger.

"You're afraid because you love me."

The words came out loud and fast before I could stop them and then hung in the air between us, finally relieved to be released from the ethereal limbo of unspoken-ness that we'd grown so accustomed to. Having said it aloud was a new, dangerous sensation neither of us knew how to handle.

"Anything I feel for you is irrational and unproductive, Stephanie."

Essentially: he loved me, but he didn't want to. That idea reflected my feelings for him—my life would be much simpler without loving this deeply conflicted man. And though I didn't want to love him, fact was that I did. But my feelings could be rationalized, and they probably made me a better person in some way.

"I disagree."

He stared at me blankly.

"I hate _that_," I told him. "I hate that you shut me out the moment you realize that you can't convince me to opinionate myself parallel to your views!" My arms tried their best to embrace their argumentative Italian flailing within the space between our bodies. "I hate that you are allowed to hide _everything_ about yourself while I stand here, completely transparent to you! You shut me out, throw up your walls, _every single time_ you are afraid of being as vulnerable as I am; you try so hard to push me away. Why won't you… I don't understand why you would fight so hard not to feel something for me! We're great, Ranger! Aren't we? I mean, we aren't perfect, but working on it... we can fix this. Everything that's happening... I know it's a lot, and I'm sorry-"

He sighed and ran his palm down his face, interrupting me with his evident frustration. "I am a rational person, Stephanie." His voice was still quiet but had softened and warmed. "I operate under logistics and reasoning. It doesn't matter what I feel, or what I want as a result of those feelings, because emotions hold no rationality for a lifestyle that does not lend itself to a conventional, exclusive relationship with a woman." The hands beside my head moved to cup my cheeks and his eyes stared seriously into my own, begging for me to understand. "I shut you out every single time, because that's the only thing between us that I can still control. If you get in, Babe, you'll never get out. And I can't trap you in here with me." He tapped the side of his head.

I moved my hands to his forearms and closed my eyes; his usually blank face was so open, so beautiful, I felt as if I were intruding on a private expression.

"What if I don't want out?"

"That's not an option."

I opened my eyes to him and gazed through the deep, dark crevasses of his soul.

"Please, Ranger…" I whispered against his lips, two silent tears escaping my eyes. I was not above begging for him. I didn't want to loose this, and I was going to, I could feel him slipping through my fingers.

"Babe," he replied softly, so hurt by his own rejection.

I leaned up, reaching with my mouth, pleading with my eyes. He complied slowly at first, lightly resting his lips against mine, breathing into me, taking from me. I let the tip of my tongue dart out to brush against him, and in response his drew forward, requesting entrance. Before I could obey, he shoved against me, driving the wet heat of his mouth into mine in earnest, plunging into me violently in the most pleasurable of ways. I heard myself moan embarrassingly loud but could hardly bring myself to care.

He was everywhere, surrounding me in all of his glorious strength. I was lifted and wrapped my legs around his waist accordingly, tugging at the roots of his hair as my body was braced firmly between his and the wall behind me. Our panting grew loud and desperate with want, belying of the pleasures of every feeling pounding through our veins.

His hands drew up under my shirt, lightly, so lightly caressing the heated skin covering my breasts. I moaned again, frantically searching for more.

He slowed our kisses and eventually they ceased, though his thumbs continued to lightly brush over my soring, raised nipples.

He stared at me, leveling me with his eyes. This wasn't the business face of CEO Ricardo Manoso; this was not the street face of Ranger. I was staring back at the face of a man who hurt for the whole world, who only wished he had moments to crumble, who wanted to be able to tell me, without having to express genuine fear for my life, that he loved me beyond any reasonable doubt.

"Can we be done playing games now?" I whispered.

His voice was deeper than I expected when he answered, and still breathy in a dangerous way.

"This has never been a game."

"Then why does it feel like we're always _losing_?"

He leaned away, effectively loosening my support and causing me to drop my legs to the floor. Then his hands lowered to his sides; my breasts were instantly hit with the loss of his touch and began mourning with a terrible ache.

Without answering he turned and began walking towards the locker room.

"That's it?" I asked in a voice more shrill than I'd intended.

"That's it," he replied in a deep, dead tone, not turning around to say it as he pushed through the door to the locker room.

* * *

><p>AN

... Oh? Did I do that? Yeah... I did. o.O

I hope all of your lives are wonderful, and that the last couple weeks have been kind to you. Thanks for being the best readers anyone ever had; I seriously doubt I would be confident enough to post any of this without the support you've all overwhelmed me with. I'll post again soon! Take care until then. :)


	11. Eleven Best

WHAT? An update in the middle of the week? HOW ABSURD!

Indeed, it is. BUT I receieved so much feedback this weekend about chapter ten, that I was motivated to keep writing. I'm even a little bit ahead of schedule, now. I figured you all could use a reward for being fantastic, and that since you're carrying on with your busy lives, you might deserve a little incentive to make it through the rest of the week.

Every time I write a little A/N at the beginning of a chapter, there are names that I want to put up here of people who've left reviews that really challenged my own thoughts about my writing, in a really good way. But I don't want to dismiss those of you who reviewed just because, too. Because I truly cherish what all of you have to say. I've made it a point to mention to those of you that affected me especially last week in a PM responding to your review. Still... thanks a whole lot. Really.

This chapter feels a little like a filler, because we don't have a lot of progression, I think, and because it's a little shorter. But it's still important. Plus, it's a little bit fun. Who doesn't love the Merry Men? REALLY!

Disclaimer: Someday, I'll share with the world characters as great as these that I can claim as my own. Until then, I'm going to play with these ones. ;)

* * *

><p>There are only two people I've ever met whom I saw truly get under Ranger's skin, excluding Grandma Mazur who I've given a category all her own.<p>

Morelli, of course, was at the tippity-top of that very short list.

After talking with Ranger and having my pride pony shot in the face with rejection, I made my own executive decision not to go back up to his apartment. I didn't know when he'd return, but I knew that he had to at some point, and I didn't want to be there when he did.

From this point forward, I would act solely as his employee, as best I could, and nothing more. If he couldn't "do" this anymore, then we wouldn't. I'd make it easy for him, no matter how hard I knew it would be for me.

Considering I was currently in the "high alert" category of danger according to Rangeman, and I'd just had my heart quasi smashed by the emotionally unavailable Man of Mystery, I needed someone who could protect me, keep my secrets, and survive any emotional breakdowns that might ensue due to recent circumstances.

That crossed out Mary Lou, Lula, Valerie, and my parents—being near any of them would just put them at risk we wouldn't be able to handle.

Mooner and Dougie were crossed off more because I wasn't sure they'd be able to sit through an emotional breakdown without smoking illicit substances and less because I thought anyone would ever guess I'd be with them.

This left me with two options.

Morelli was very obviously option number one. He met all the required criteria, plus he'd probably have some good food I could gorge myself on. But there were too many negatives, and the wounds were still too fresh. If I _had_ to be there, I knew I could.

But I still had option two.

There was another person I could go to. Someone I could trust, who would listen to my woes and brighten my dark moods. I would be safe with him, and it would piss off Ranger.

_Win-win._

* * *

><p>Lester Santos is one of the most out-spoken, crude, politically incorrect men I've ever met in my entire life. Like me, he pushed his boundaries with his cousin more times than most people would be allowed to live and tell about.<p>

Aside from being protected and still under Rangeman's roof, I would have a humored, friendly ear and, if I got lucky, a mouth that would censor my secrets while still boasting my sudden change of venue. Plus, I could still attend to my research duties at Rangeman without having to travel any further than a floor.

In this particular situation, Lester's apartment on four was the most ideal… even if I would have rather been _sharing_ a bed with… someone else.

It was half past three when I knocked on the door to Lester's apartment.

I waited, knocked louder, then waited some more.

I rapped three times quickly a third time and finally heard a loud thud followed by a series of muffled curses.

The locks tumbled and the door opened quickly, revealing a very alert, barefooted Lester dressed in only a pair of black jersey shorts.

His eyes were wide and searching, scanning me up and down.

"You okay?" he asked.

The answer was hard to spit out; my eyes were distracted by the divots and crevasses of hard muscle presented directly in my line of sight. I was eventually able to voice out a less than convincing, "Yeah."

He looked confused. Apparently Merry Men have trouble with The Face of Stoicism after just waking up; I could read every little expression that crossed his face.

"Is… everything all right?" he asked, looking past me into the hallway and throwing his eyes around for any sign of distress.

I nodded. "I need… somewhere… to sleep," I stuttered.

"But you're okay?" he asked again, seeming to calm down a little from his Merry Man panic attack.

I nodded again in response.

He leaned against the doorframe, assuming his usual casual demeanor now that he was assured there was no emergency.

"Even beautiful in the middle of the night…" he muttered through a yawn, smiling tiredly; he finally looked as if he'd just woken up.

"I'm really, really sorry. I wanted to know if I could maybe sleep on your couch…"

He scanned me up and down again.

"You wanna wear one of _my_ tee shirts?" His grin was laced with terrible innuendos that under regular circumstance would have made me smile.

"Please, Les?"

"You wouldn't be here if you didn't already know you could be," he said, smiling sweetly now and moving aside so I could make my way through the doorway.

After shutting the door, he stretched and reached around to his lower back. When his hand came forward again it was clutching a shining Glock, which he adjusted so that the safety was on.

"Expecting bad guys to infiltrate Rangeman and come knocking on your door?"

He smiled. "A man can hope." He raised his eyebrows with silent suggestions, "Speaking of hope…"

He offered me his bed with another wicked smile, promising that his "seducing juices" were still asleep and that he'd keep his hands to himself. When I declined, he offered his bed again, but without him in it.

I told him the couch would be just fine and reasoned that I was smaller and would be more comfortable than he would be.

He came out of his bedroom with a pillow and an oversized comforter and tossed them on the sofa.

"You good?" he asked.

I nodded.

"You want to talk about anything?"

I shook my head.

He leaned forward and placed a kiss to my forehead.

"Help yourself to whatever. Let me know if you need anything. I'll be in the gym at six and will be back upstairs before the meeting at eight."

"I didn't know there was a meeting at eight."

He shrugged. "There's a meeting at eight."

I nodded in reply.

When I collapsed onto the couch finally, I was asleep as soon as my eyes closed.

* * *

><p>I woke up not long after Lester had left for the gym that morning, despite not having heard him leave. Merry Men are inborn with the ability to move about unnoticed, but I have spidey senses that alert me to the slightest change of company; I could sense I was alone.<p>

I laid there for a long time, maybe a half hour, staring at the ceiling, thinking about nothing for as long as I possibly could, because I knew that the rest of my day would not allow me the same quiet peace of mind.

As I passed by the front door on my way to the kitchen, a laundry basket full of clothing caught my eye. A suspiciously familiar pair of Wonder Woman bikini briefs alerted me to the fact that the contents were probably mine.

Assumedly, Ella knew where I'd slept for the second half of the previous night.

And if Ella knew where I was then so did Ranger, and that was just fine by me.

I continued through to the kitchen where I discovered a container of mini blueberry muffins with my name on it—literally.

_Stephanie,_

_Good Morning._

_-Ella_

I could have spent a long time contemplating _why_ Ella had bothered making me muffins and leaving them on the counter in an apartment that did not belong to Ranger, and could have spent an equal amount of time wondering why Ella had made muffins at all, considering that I'm the only one in the entire Rangeman building that soils the "temple" with evils like butter and sugar.

Instead of focusing on the heavy, I popped an entire muffin in my mouth and started looking for the coffee maker—which, as it turns out, Lester didn't own.

Upon ransacking his entire kitchen, I found every appliance and utensil Rachel Ray and Paula Deen would ever need to make anything their deranged, genius, baking minds could conjure—excluding a microwave… and a coffee maker.

My frustration doubled when I pulled a glass from the cupboard, poured myself some soy milk to wash down my muffin, and dropped the carton turning back around to the refrigerator. Milky beige-grey liquid splattered all over the floor with a disgusting _smack_.

I picked up the dripping carton and tried to stifle the tears; it was seriously too early in the day to start crying. I had to harden myself for the eight o'clock meeting where I would inevitably have to see Ranger, and where the photos that had sort of ended our quasi-relationship were probably going to be a topic of discussion.

This pattern of thought is what shattered my resolve.

Apparently, I could deal with a break-up with Morelli. I could deal with being in the hospital, with my car blowing up, with thinking I was pregnant and then realizing that I wasn't, with my home blowing up, and even with a psychotic, mystery stalker taking pictures of me in various states of indecency. But with all of that going on, I _couldn't_ deal with not having Ranger, my friend, my mentor, by my side. I didn't need him to be my lover—I just needed him to be my _something_.

I leaned against the refrigerator, carton still in my hands, and sunk to the floor, hugging my knees to my chest as I began to quietly, but quite thoroughly, sob my eyes out.

And of course, that's how Lester found me.

I failed to hear him enter, but saw him when he rounded the corner to the kitchen.

He was in a Rangeman tee shirt and what appeared to be the same pair of jersey shorts that he'd worn to bed. His shirt was stained dark with sweat.

He looked around at the stupid mess that I'd made and still had neglected to clean up.

"Crying over spilt milk, Beautiful?"

"I'm really sorry," I sniffled.

He looked over at the container that Ella had left for me.

"Why didn't Ella leave _me_ any muffins?" he asked, reaching over the counter for a ridiculous amount of paper towel.

I stood up and opened the fridge to put the almost empty carton of milk back inside.

"Ella knows that I'm an emotional eater; I consume my sorrows away with calories."

Lester began sopping up the mess. "This whole sleepover gig wouldn't have something to do with my cousin spending four and a half hours in the gym last night, would it?"

I ignored that but grabbed more paper towels to run over the filmy residue left over after his wiping. "Don't you own a coffee maker?"

He shook his head and walked to the trash can.

"I don't like coffee," he voiced over his shoulder.

"But… you're _Cuban_..."

"Actually, I'm _American_."

"Les, it's practically un-American to not drink coffee. How do you… _function_?"

"Would you like me to show you?" he asked as he waggled his eyebrows.

"No!"

He shook his head and laughed as he turned towards a cabinet near the refrigerator and took down a blender.

I threw away the paper towels and leaned against the kitchen counter, grabbing another muffin.

"So, did you finally give up?" he asked, depositing a carton of eggs, a canister of strawberries, and a can of protein powder next to the blender.

"Looking for your non-existent coffee pot? Obviously. Notice the lame, girly crying in your kitchen?"

"I wasn't talking about the coffee pot."

We stared at each other for a long time, neither of us knowing who would speak first.

Ultimately, he did.

"You know, you're different than the other women who deal with men like us. You're not one to run away from the big bad wolf."

"I'm not the one running away this time, Les."

He gave a thoughtful nod and looked at the floor near my feet.

"Whatever he did, he did because you're better off. We're not really worth the heartache, Beautiful."

Angry tears flooded my eyes, causing my voice to crack when I spoke.

"_Yes, you are_. And the bullshit stories that you _aren't_ just reinforce my resolve. If he wasn't worth it, I wouldn't be here. I'm not stupid, Les."

He gave a small, sad smile and looked up at me, directly in the eyes, still as serious as I'd ever seen him.

"You'd _have_ to be stupid to be here. When was the last time you saw another woman in the Rangeman building aside from Ella? We aren't good men, Stephanie. Most people know that just by looking at us."

I walked towards him and shoved my finger into his chest.

"You listen to me, Lester Santos! This building is full of men that I love, that I'd give my life for. I'm not among _perfect_ men, but I _never_ doubt that I'm among the best men there are. Don't you dare patronize me with "You don't know the whole story, Stephanie," or "We're not who you think we are," garbage. You don't think that you're good enough for me? I know who you are better than you do. And Ranger?"

I paused. What could I say to Lester about what I knew about Ranger without sounding like an idiot?

"He's the darkest of you all, and still the best man I know. If there aren't other women who don't see who you are, who Bobby is, who Tank is, then that's _their_ loss; your darkness is something they can't handle. But they're missing out on everything else you are. Call me stupid. But you're blind if you can't see all the good around you."

With that I turned and walked into the living room. I folded the comforter I'd used the night before over the back of the couch and grabbed the laundry basket that Ella had left by the door as I left Lester's apartment, noting the sound of a blender chewing up his protein shake in the kitchen.

* * *

><p>AN

More to come! :) Have a great rest of the week!


	12. Notions Twelve

Okay. So, I love the awesome feedback that I get after every chapter.

I love my regulars, who I feel like are my composing cohorts, giving me constant feedback on specific loves and not so loves about a chapter.

I love my shy reviewers, who review once in a while when they're totally compelled by something, which I think is really powerful. (I was one of you for a really long time).

And I love my quiet readers, who are with me in that way Peter Pan was with Wendy after she went back home from Neverland (which I totally wouldn't have done). Like, he listened to her tell stories and totally stalked her, but she could only sense that he was with her, and that was enough.

And I have to say that cumulatively all of that is a really wonderful sensation. But it's different from the sensation that overtakes you when you hear that someone has referred your story to someone else. Twice, I have heard this. I don't know who's spreading the word, but... I think you're incredibly awesome and just... thank you.

I wish I was better at the thank you thing. I always feel completely cheesy doing it, because I wonder if I sound like those people who expect to hear wonderful things about them. But I don't. And it matters. Every single time, it matters to me and changes something for me. I hope each of you sense that, and take to heart my gratitude.

Oh, and partnered with this nice long A/N? A nice long chapter for you! And guys... it's a mind-blower...

Disclaimer: (JM Barrie, _Peter Pan_) "You see, when the first baby laughed for the first time, its laugh broke into a thousand pieces, and they all went skipping about, and that was the beginning of fairies." And Merry Men. That's how Merry Men were born... or not.

* * *

><p>So, sometimes I have a plan. Sometimes I've thought about the next step in my life so thoroughly that it ends up happening just the way it's supposed to and I can continue on without having to worry about what should have happened. But most of the time, more often than not, I wing my way through life only as if I know what I'm doing. That's especially how I'd been handling things lately, since my life had been ransacked by someone who somehow gained more control over my life than I did. I'd watched my home destroyed, my friends and family hurt, my relationships crumble to the ground, and I've made quick decisions in response to how I'm feeling, and how I want others to feel; decisions that are comfortable for that time and place. I've trying to rebuild my life based upon times and decisions that would allow me to fight back for what's supposed to be mine.<p>

This was one of those times.

My immediate response to leaving Lester's was to make a beeline escape to my parent's haven, but all the reasons I hadn't gone there last night reinforced my original decision not to. Plus, I needed to work today, and I was still somehow employed with Rangeman; I needed to make the eight a.m. meeting. I needed to stay. I needed to prove to myself, and to everyone else, that I was making my own decisions, and they were the right ones, for the right reasons.

I didn't want to talk about my boss and no-longer quasi lover, Ranger; I didn't want to talk to Morelli; I didn't want to put anyone I loved at risk. Essentially, I had one more option, and he lived right down the hall from Lester.

I knocked on his door and Hector answered instantly, looking very calm and awake, as if he'd been waiting for me all along.

Before I could ask, he moved aside and offered me entrance.

I walked into his foyer and stood there awkwardly as he shut the door behind me, smiling as he turned to me.

I stood awkwardly with my basket of clothing and attempted communicating.

"I know that you aren't going to hound me about Ranger, and I know that you aren't going to make me feel bad about being a stupid, homeless, frightened woman. Can I stay here for just a couple nights? I promise not to bother you."

He spoke to me in quickly in Spanish, gesturing largely with his arms. When he stopped, I nodded as if I had any idea what he'd just said.

"So… is that a "Sure thing, Steph?" I emphasized my question with a "thumbs-up."

He nodded and threw me a thumbs-up right back.

I plunked my laundry basket onto the floor and checked the clock.

"Can I use your shower?" I asked.

Hector laughed, though I wasn't entirely sure as to _why_, and motioned for me to use the bathroom.

Now, I'll be honest. Every apartment in the Rangeman building is nicer than anything I would ever be able to afford to even _consider_ looking at. The bathrooms alone amaze me. But just as would be expected according to his status, Ranger's penthouse far exceeds the grandeur of them all combined.

And his shower?

Besides an orgasm, Ranger's shower is probably the most pleasure my body has ever experienced at one time. And Hector's shower, which smelled more like Old Spice than Bulgari, made me miss my man of mystery just that much more.

Clean and dressed in my blacks, I walked up the stairs with Hector to floor five a few minutes before the meeting started.

At this point, I was in a shitty mood. I'd borrowed one of Hector's Rangeman caps and shoved all my pony-tailed hair underneath it, abandoning any attempt at maintaining it. And on top of a bad hair day, I still hadn't had any coffee, I smelled like Old Spice, and I'd been dumped less than 24 hours ago.

Essentially, all of these factors added up and equaled a shitty day. And just like any woman on her shittiest day, I felt really fat. Like, exploding out of my skin fat, simply because of how much everything just… sucked.

To my surprise, someone else knew I was attending the meeting caffeine-free. A thermos of hot, sugared, creamed, coffee was perched in front of my seat at the conference table on top of my briefing folder.

I plopped down into my chair faster than I thought possible and began sucking the steaming liquid down my throat, burning my tongue and not really caring at all.

I caught Lester staring at me from across the table.

"Hector doesn't drink coffee either," he said with a knowing smile.

I sighed and gulped down another mouthful, moaning as the warm sensations flowed down my throat.

"I could kiss you, Les."

"You _could_, could you?" he laughed, focusing his attention on the debriefing folder in front of him as he spoke. His demeanor was strange, and I wondered if he'd been thinking about what I'd said to him before I left, if it bothered him, if him and I were still a-okay.

Ranger walked in the room followed by Tank and all side-conversation ceased while I tried my very best to appear as if his presence didn't affect me the way it did. Even not looking directly at him, just being in the same room with him made my heart convulse in my chest; it was painful to be near him and know that we were so very far apart.

Tank and Ranger both took their normally assumed seats and began scanning through the folders in front of them.

Tank began the meeting, rattling off recent sanctions of funds for new technologies they'd be installing, approving surveillance teams for new customers, and approaching tactics that they'd discussed in previous meetings to outsource their man-power resources to the Miami office to assist in a new "project" relocating illegally immigrated Cuban drug cartels from the inner-city demographics.

_Blah. Blah. Blah. I didn't even brush my teeth this morning, and Rangeman is already sanctioning a rescue for an entire city twelve-hundred miles away…._

I listened a little bit, spending most part of the beginning of his spiel nursing my delicious coffee and doodling in the margins of the pages in my folder.

I found it strange that Ranger maintained a quiet, stoic persona, not speaking unless asked a direct question. Usually, he leads the meetings. Equally unsettling was hearing Tank say so very much; I wasn't used to hearing him go on and on with… words… about… _anything, _I guess.

"As far as bond enforcement, we have two new high-bond FTAs," Tank said as everyone turned a page in their folder.

I sat up straighter in my seat and my ears perked.

"Anthony Lumoinelli, 28-years-old…"

Tank kept talking while I reviewed this guy's horribly abundant criminal history.

"_Why_ would Vinnie bond this guy out?" I said under my breath to Bobby who was sitting to my right.

His eyebrows raised and his head moved slightly back and forth.

"Based upon the psychoanalysis, this guy thinks he's invincible. He's out on charges of assault and battery, assault with a deadly weapon, assaulting the arresting police officer. Rumor has it they're trying to get him on human trafficking, but so far they've been unable to file charges due to the disappearing witnesses. He targets young women. Once they come into contact with him, they're off the grid. "

_Oooh. Violent offender targeting women? Sounds like a for-sure distraction job._

Ranger spoke un-coaxed for the first time since the meeting began.

"We're approaching this target with a distraction operation. Lester, Bobby, Tank, and I will orchestrate the take-down."

"And Stephanie?" Lester interjected.

Ranger shook his head slightly.

"We have outside resources employed to help us with this particular distraction."

"_What_?"

In all honesty, I didn't mean to shout out and scare the begeesus out of everyone in the room. Of course, none of them _looked_ scared; they were wearing their blank faces. They all looked bored. But regardless, I hadn't meant to react so hotly. But I was absolutely livid and my higher-judgment skills had just been back-burnered in order to make my very red emotions known.

"What do you mean I'm not doing this distraction? _That's what I do_! This is bullshit! You're going to take work away from me because you're angry! That's just… What the hell?"

Ranger remained annoyingly calm and impassive.

"I'm in no way upset with you. I simply don't believe that your level of skill will be able to accommodate the requirements for this particular target."

None of the Merry Men would look at me; all of them remained heavily focused on the table top.

I sat gaping at Ranger directly.

This was not happening.

It just… _wasn't_!

I stared at him and squared my jaw. My voice was low with simmering anger.

"Who?"

"Excuse me?"

"_Who_ are you replacing me with!" I shouted.

"You need to calm down, Stephanie."

"Who are you replacing me with?"

It was silent; no one moved.

"Jeanne Ellen has offered her skillsets—"

"I _bet_ she's offered all kind of things," I interrupted.

"Enough, Stephanie," he said, his voice low and laced with dangerous finality.

It was the first time he'd ever pulled "The Boss Card", but it was honestly the first time he'd ever needed to. I'd never given him any reason to before.

Tears of angry passion pricked at my eyes, but I refused to allow them to fall. He didn't deserve to see that weakness.

He continued as if the argument never happened.

"Tank?"

"Second distraction: Charles Galveston. Thirty-seven-years-old. Two counts of assault with a deadly weapon and assaulting the arresting officer. Take-down is set for tonight. Double-check your rotation to see if you're assigned to the team. Stephanie, are you willing to assist in this distraction? We have another female recruited to accompany you as a wing-woman of sorts."

_Great_.

As if I hadn't heard enough about Jeanne Ellen, now I was going to have to work with her AND be nice so we didn't die. That was a lot to ask of me at this point.

I nodded.

"Time?"

"We depart at 22 hundred hours."

"Where will this be going down?"

To my surprise, Ranger spoke, though I'd been addressing Tank.

"Blue Gill Thrill. It's a higher-end night club. Galveston likes to associate with people who appear esteemed."

"So, I should be wearing…?"

Tank interrupted with a strange look at Ranger.

"He's an authoritarian who likes expensive women with enhanced—uh, features?"

Ranger interjected again.

"Executive slutty. Wear a push-up bra, a short skirt, and closed-toed heels with a platform."

Because Lester was sitting across from me, I watched his mouth drop open. He quickly recovered and blushed, looking again at his folder as if it held every secret to the universe man had never known.

Tank cleared his throat.

"Uhm… Moving… On… So, as most of you are aware, Stephanie's well-being has recently been undermined by a presently undefined target. Her car has been blown up, as well as her apartment building. Our protocol assumes that she is not to leave the building unaccompanied and should be escorted accordingly so as to reassure her safety."

I felt eyes on me, waiting for me to disagree, to say that this was something I didn't need babysitters for, something I could handle myself. But even if I hadn't been embarrassed already by losing my cool and having been shut down by Ranger, saying I could deal with this guy, after seeing those photographs—I'm no liar. This was my life.

"I need section reports," Tank announced.

The room remained silent. Normally, the men would intermittently interject with leads to the cases we were discussing. But no one said anything; that had never happened before.

"Callahan," Ranger said, calling Cal out directly.

"We have no suspect leads, sir. We've scoured the police reports, the witness reports, hacked surveillance footage from every direction to see if we ever had a clear shot of anyone who looked out of place. We're doing re-calls on all of the re-bonded skips that Bomb—er, Stephanie, has booked over the last few months—"

"I want a full year's recount."

"Yes, sir."

At this time, someone else would jump in with their report. But again, the room remained silent and all eyes were averted from Tank and Ranger.

"Brown."

Bobby cleared his throat.

"I had Stephanie's blood test transferred to our lab personally, so as to avoid a repeat of our contamination issue." He sighed. "They were processed successfully, we have electronic confirmation proving that much."

There was a strange weight to the air, a shift in pressure.

I held my breath and waited for him to report the findings.

"The results, however, have been removed from our database. We have evidence that the blood was processed, but we have no indication of what the readings were."

The room was silent, and I kept waiting for someone to speak.

"We'll have a discussion in my office after the meeting," Ranger finally said, keeping his eyes firmly trained on his folder.

Bobby nodded once.

"Santos?"

"Yeah?"

"Your report."

"Oh, yeah. So, we had TFD do an evaluation both in Stephanie's car and in her apartment after the two bombing incidents. We then sent the results to Shelley Greene, TPD's criminal profiler, along with the police reports and the notes the suspect left. I briefed her on the roses and on the photographs. She said that we're probably looking for some ho-hum nobody based on the lack of sophistication of the explosives, late twenties to early forties. Based on the notes and the sentiment in them, she's estimating a single, white male." Lester took a deep breath and looked directly at me. "She had a lot of "Probably"s. He probably lives alone. Probably he knows you a lot better than you know him; you probably aren't friends, but acquaintances or a skip you were too nice to when you re-bonded him. She assumes that the explosives are in response to other male relationships that you might have, even just friends. She doesn't believe that they were intended to kill you, just to frighten you."

"Great," I muttered sarcastically.

"Stephanie," Ranger said, his voice softer than it had been when he reprimanded me before. "Based upon that general description, does anyone come to mind?"

"No," I said, not looking at him.

I could feel him staring at me, and turned in his direction, immediately meeting his eyes. I could tell that I'd hurt him, even just with my clipped tone, though there was no physical indication, no twitch of his eye or flex of his jaw. I just knew; I could _feel_ it.

Well… good. It was someone else's turn to be hurt.

And sure, I was being completely immature about it all. I mean, this man was keeping me alive, allowed me to live in his building when I had nowhere else to go, and ensured that I had a constantly flowing income. I put him through hell.

The other half of my brain, the half that never left high school, told me that he put me through just as much grief as I put him through. As dumb as it sounded, a small part of me felt like I'd earned small jabs at his unbreakable, untouchable feelings.

Our hot gazing was interrupted by Tank's booming baritone.

"Rodriguez sent his report in from the Miami office." We all turned to him to listen, though I could still feel Ranger's gaze. "He's scoured the records of everyone in Stephanie's building; the only priors are petty theft and public indecency. We have nothing even remotely relative to the kind of criminal we're looking at now."

I nodded, indicating to him that I'd understood.

"Maybe in-between inbox requests, you could do some personal searches on people you know. Just to be as thorough as we can be."

I nodded again.

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><p>The meeting went on for another fifteen minutes before everyone recessed to their assignments. Except Bobby, who followed Ranger out of the conference room and into his office, shutting the door behind him. I watched diligently from my desk—they were locked in there for a good hour before Bobby finally emerged, head hanging low as he moved to the stairwell.<p>

I locked my computer and followed him.

I called out to him as the door behind me slammed shut; if I hadn't, I knew he would have moved too quickly for me to catch him.

"Down here," I heard him say.

I stepped down two floors before I found him on the third floor landing, his arms braced on the railing.

His head fell as I approached.

"Hey, Steph."

I came up beside him and shifted my feet.

"He wasn't too angry, was he?"

He shook his head and produced a bitter smile laced with undeniable sadness.

"I fucked up, Bombshell."

I vehemently shook my head and reached forward to touch his tense bicep.

"It's not your fault. There's obviously something wrong with the equipment—"

He shook his head again angrily.

"It isn't the equipment; someone's been fucking with the results." He looked me right in the eye. "And I've let him slip past me _three_ times now."

I was stunned for a moment before it dawned on me.

"Hold on. You mean… someone _within_ Rangeman is doing this? Someone we know has been… It's one of us?"

He let out a long, frustrated sigh.

"It's here or at the hospital. We can't conclusively say, because we share the lab."

I nodded, as if that made perfect sense to me and I'd been along with the idea all along.

"So, what do we need to do?"

"I can't do anything. I have to go, Steph."

"I didn't think you got off until later tonight. Isn't it—"

"I'm on temporary suspension."

The last word rung loudly through the stairwell.

_Suspension_.

When I spoke, my words were whispered, quiet.

"He _suspended_ you?"

He nodded.

"I fucked up. There really isn't room for stupid mistakes when peoples' lives are in danger. Plus," his chuckled humorlessly and looked at the ceiling, "I had access to the samples every time. I'm the best suspect here."

"He doesn't honestly think you—"

"I make the most sense. I'm not going to take that personally."

"But it's _you_, Bobby!" I yelled at him, listening to my voice carry in the stairwell.

The silence between us was heavy. How could it not have been?

"I know it's not you, if that makes any difference to you."

He smiled sadly at me and stood up.

"That's all that matters, Bomber."

"I don't even know what to say. I'm—I'll talk to him."

He shook his head again.

"You know? It's not even like it was just _somebody's_ life. It's yours. Stephanie Plum's life was in my hands, and I dropped the whole fucking ball. My being here… I'm supposed to _protect_ you, and I can't even protect you from our friends." He sighed heavily and ran his hair over his short crop of hair.

He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek before I could speak in protest.

"You know what? It's all okay. I'll see you in a few weeks or something."

"When are you coming back?"

He shrugged.

"He'll call me when we figure this out."

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><p>He wasn't expecting me, which might have given me the upper hand. But when I got there, charged into his office and slammed the door shut behind me, I froze. It was the first time I had been alone with him since the night before, and I was suddenly very aware of that.<p>

"Is there something I can help you with, Stephanie?" he asked, setting his pen down and leaning back in his chair.

"You fired Bobby."

He shook his head.

"I suspended Bobby."

"Because he made a mistake?"

"Because he made a lot of mistakes."

My arms started flailing as I paced in front of him.

"Why would you do that? _How_ could you suspend one of your best assets? He didn't do anything wrong! And as far as suspects go, you cannot seriously be considering that one of your best friends is doing this… I mean, it's _Bobby_!"

"I am not going to discuss my decisions about another employee with you, Stephanie."

"Oh, please! This is _me_, Ranger. This isn't about employees, this is about who you and I can trust. He's our friend, your friend. You've known him forever, and you honestly think that all of this is happening because that's suddenly changed?"

He shook his head again.

"Bobby is a man I pay for his expertise, his precision, and his effectiveness. He hasn't been displaying those characteristics to par for a while. He needed a break, so I gave him one. Do not question my authority in this office, Stephanie."

"I'm questioning your _judgment_, not your authority. I know how high and powerful you are; I'm just not sure you understand that you're affecting this man's life _and_ his relationship with you. Regardless of what you think you're doing, you're just pushing another person away from you because you're getting scared."

"He's not without resources. He's provided for. And to discourage your sudden jump to conclusions, I do not think that Bobby is our suspect."

"Then _what the fuck_ is going on?" I shouted, raising my hands and letting them fall to my sides in frustration.

"You need to lower your voice."

"Stop telling me what to do…" I said, even though I _did_ turn down the volume and knew that I sounded like a child.

"Sit," he said.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

He nodded once and gestured for the chair in front of his desk, which I obediently sat on the edge of, waiting impatiently for answers.

"Bobby is caught conspicuously in the cross-fires of this investigation. Removing him protects him."

I paused, probably to make sure that I wasn't going to go on a verbal rampage again before he'd finished.

"He understands his position, and is aware of how it appears to be suspended during such a highly valued man-hunt. We're hoping that will make our suspect a little bit more comfortable."

"And then he'll get lazy."

"Comfortable criminals tend to get caught."

I had a question I needed a definite answer to even though I was almost positive I already knew what it was.

"So… he works for you? He's a Merry Man?"

Ranger folded his hands on his desk.

"It would appear that way. The only people who have immediate access to our lab space are Rangeman employees and hospital staff with a certain level of clearance."

Then it dawned on me; I had the epiphany I'd been searching for since the night before.

The only volume I could muster was a slight whisper.

"That's what last night was about." I stared at his large, powerful hands as I spoke. "You… everything… it's because you think the stalker works for you."

My head slowly rose so my eyes could stare into his. When I saw the unspoken confirmation on his face, I had my answer.

"You _selfish_ bastard!" I yelled, standing immediately. "You shoved me away _not_ because you're afraid of this relationship, but because you're afraid that this whole fucking thing is because of _you_! You hired him, it must be your fault this is happening, so you can't allow yourself anything good, right?"

I saw him faulter, and decided to hit him with another thought I'd had.

"Or maybe, you don't think it's _because_ of you. Maybe you think it's _about_ you. Maybe you think this whole fucking thing is about you! You think someone's out to get you! You think someone's trying to get back at you inside your own company, through me, don't you?"

I hated seeing that I was right, but even with his perfectly stoic face, I could tell that I was to some degree; I knew him too well for him to lie to me, and I could tell something I had said had struck home.

"You know what? If that's the bullshit that you feed yourself so you can sleep at night, then fine. But you don't fool me for one minute. I know you too damn well. You can lie to yourself, but I know how scared you are of this," I gestured between us. "You're looking for all the excuses you can to get out of it, aren't you. And you've finally found the most legitimate. You don't think I'm scared? About how much I care about you? About what you mean to me? You can run away and pretend that it's for my own good, but that's not what it's about."

I turned and headed for the door, pausing just after I'd turned the handle.

"And you know what else?" I asked as I stared ahead at the door, afraid that if I looked at him I wouldn't be able to say it. "I think what hurts the most about all of that, is that you would take something so young and unexplained between us, and fill it with the most vile… the most horrid of associations, only so that you would have an excuse to kill it off so you didn't have to deal with it anymore."

I slammed the door on my way out and fought the tears all the way to my desk. What I wanted to do was run away and lock myself in my apartment—but that really wasn't an option.

Plus, I needed to work; I needed to find out how someone fitting the extremely broad description we'd gotten from the criminal profiler was able to break through every man and machine resource Rangeman had, set Bobby up, ruin the sanctity of this office, stalk me, abuse my privacy, blow up my hamster, and still maintain a completely professional persona when he wasn't being a crazy lunatic. I mean, how did this man function, if he had no time to sleep?

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><p>AN

And then everybody who thought they knew what was going on was like, "Whaaat?"

Have a great week everyone! :)


	13. Thirteen Gun Dispute

A/N

Massive trouble posting this chapter. BUT it's here! That's what counts!

You guys are all fantastic. I love that I'm developing such great relationships with so many of you. It's truly incredible.

This chapter needs little introduction. Just be aware that the M rating is effective here briefly, but not for anything fun. Be forewarned.

Have a wonderful week everyone! Good luck to those of you preparing to graduate and/or in the midst of cramming for finals!

Disclaimer: There once was a man from Nantucket. He didn't come up with any of this either.

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><p>At seven o'clock I finally pulled myself away from my computer screen, rubbing my eyes as I made my way up to Hector's apartment to eat before I got ready for the distraction tonight.<p>

I knocked awkwardly and was greeted by a smiling Hector, who directed me to a humble dining area with two table settings.

"That's really nice," I said aloud, more to myself than to him, as he pulled my chair out for me. "You know you really don't have to go through all this trouble."

He relayed a string of words that I didn't understand as he made his way into the kitchen. Seconds later, he appeared with a platter of sizzling vegetables and chicken.

"You are a Godsend, Hector," I announced, helping myself to a heaping spoonful and moaning loudly as the flavors assaulted my taste buds.

We ate in silence, cleared the table in silence, and washed the dishes in silence—the comfortable kind of silence. The kind where you understand each other so completely that words aren't needed.

I went into the living room to sort through my clothing to find an "executively slutty" outfit, smiling when I finally found the shirt I'd been looking for. After rustling together everything else, I set to work, primping, pinching, pulling, and powdering my way to about as perfect as I get.

Finished, I gave myself a once-over.

I'd decided on a simple, long-sleeved, white button down shirt and a charcoal grey pencil skirt that hit just above my knees. Though the majority of the prize-fighters in my drool-worthy shoe collection were essentially toast since the fire, I'd had a handful of pairs that had been left in Ranger's closet a distraction time or two. I'd chosen navy blue platinum platform pumps and smoothed my hair into big loopy waves. I decided to leave my makeup simple, but snuck in some smoky eyes to make me look more mysterious than I actually was.

I half-turned out of the bathroom when the silver glint of my earrings caught my eye. I faced the mirror again, debating, before ultimately deciding that they felt a lot heavier today than they did the night he gave them to me. I carefully removed each of them and set them sink-side, shrugging off the sadness that encompassed me when I realized that I'd just made yet another physical notation of my separation from the Man of Mystery.

I teetered out of the bathroom and made my way to the living room where I found Hector cross-legged on the sofa, glasses perched on his nose, penciling away at a crossword puzzle while Wheel of Fortune hummed lowly on the television.

_A glance into the secret life of Merry Men, and this is what I get…_

He smiled at me and drew out a long whistle.

"Very good," he said with a thick accent.

"Am I missing anything?" I asked, spinning around in a self-conscious circle.

He pondered that for a moment.

"Jewelry," he answered, tugging on his earlobe.

A shiver ran through me; I wasn't putting them back on, no matter how detrimental their absence was to my outfit.

"No earrings," I shrugged. "My jewelry box ended up in storage."

He sighed and stood, folding his crossword puzzle over on the coffee table.

"It's really okay…" I said, even though I had no idea what he was doing.

He made his way to the front door and opened it, going out into the hall where I quickly followed.

He knocked on Lester's door loudly three times, and then waited.

Lester opened the door, and looked at the two of us before his eyes settled on me and his mouth spread into a wide, lecherous grin.

"Is this a private showing?"

"You can't just say, 'Hey, Steph. You look really nice,'? Is that really so hard?"

"It's really so hard," he said, wagging his eyebrows.

"You're a pig," I said, squinting my eyes.

"Marrano." Hector said, which I could only assume was his agreeing with me.

"What are you doing here?" Lester asked him.

In reply, Hector started slewing out swift, fluent lines of Spanish, quickly enough so that I had no idea what he was going on about.

Lester answered in the same perfect tone, emphasizing something by repeating it three times and then punching Hector in the shoulder.

Hector reached forward and slapped him in the side of the head and called him an "idiota".

"Okay, okay, amigo! Hold on!" Lester finally chuckled.

He turned away from us and left the door open as he made his way towards his bedroom. A few seconds later he returned and handed me a small, velvet box.

"Hector said that you were in need of some accessories. You can wear them as long as you'd like, but I do have to have them back when you're done."

I opened the box and found a pair of glittering, square-cut diamond earrings inside.

"Are you sure it's okay?" I asked, handing Hector the box as I slid each of them into my ears.

Lester shrugged. "Yeah, I don't mind. They make you look like money. Just don't lose them."

"Why do you have diamond earrings anyway? Your ears aren't pierced."

"They were my mom's," he rattled off quickly, his eyes not meeting mine.

"Oh. Sorry."

There was an awkward silence before Hector said something in Spanish and turned back to his apartment.

Lester smiled. "Yeah, we have to get going. Distraction debriefing is in five."

"What? I had no idea how late it was!"

"They can't start without you, Beautiful. You're like the main attraction."

"Yeah, besides my wing-woman. I'll be upstaged by _that_ no matter what I'm wearing."

Lester shut his door and picked up stride beside me. "Well, that's for sure," he said, laughing the words.

* * *

><p>So, I'm known to be wrong on occasion. And sometimes, that's embarrassing. Other times it's pleasantly surprising or completely frightening.<p>

Entering the conference room for the distraction debriefing, I was feeling all of the above.

I was wrong, and definitely embarrassed, even though I'm pretty sure I didn't tell anyone what I'd assumed. And as happily surprised as I was to not be partnered with Jeanne Ellen on this distraction job, I was absolutely and completely terrified by the idea of having to work with the woman standing across the room from me.

"Your mouth all open like that makes you look like you're some kind of idiot. You know how you get those butterflies in your stomach sometimes when you're real nervous-like? I got some of those on account of arresting big criminals sometimes makes me nervous when I have to pretend to not be me. You think we're allowed to drink at the club? I mean, it is a club, and they have drinks. I bet a nice drink would drown all them fluttering butterflies. Not that I support drowning things, cause that's not real nice. But I think it doesn't count if they aren't real butterflies."

I shut my mouth and plopped myself in a chair, still staring at her.

"What? You aren't even gonna tell me how nice I look? I look real nice, don't I? Tankie got to take me shoppin' today and out for a nice weave with his special Ranger card. The only rule was that I had to get what he said, on account this whole design was for workings. I feel like a really, true business woman. Don't I look like a real business woman?"

"Lula, you look fantastic," I said, smiling broadly.

Her coppery hair was pin-needle straight and fell like a waterfall completely down her back. She was dressed in a black sateen pant suit and wore a lime green top underneath, which complimented her hair and skin tone nicely, and was probably her own personal outlet for color. Her shoes were black patent pumps, and she had black plastic-framed glasses perched on her nose. I was most surprised, however, by her completely subtle make-up. She really didn't look like _Lula_.

"Well, you're pretty nice-looking yourself. That shirt is awfully flattering, too. Makes it look like you got some work done. You didn't get any work done and not tell me, right?"

I told her no, that I hadn't had my breasts done since yesterday and thank you, mostly because I thought that's what she wanted me to say.

"Well you got all those buttons undone, that probably helps a lot. Tank wouldn't let me get nothing like that."

"Stephanie is supposed to appear more distracting than you so that Galveston goes for her, while Lester pretends to be interested in pursuing you," Tank said, sitting down in his chair.

"How come he's got to be pretending to be interested? That's not very nice. I'm a beautifully structured woman with some qualities. I have some qualities. Don't I have some qualities, Steph?"

"Yep."

"Yeah, so how come there's all this pretending about being interested in a quality woman?"

"What if I told you that maybe I'll just stop pretending to not be interested in you?" Lester said, winking at her.

"Well, you shouldn't be! I'm a committed woman to Tank here. Isn't that right, Tankie?"

Soon enough, we were all sitting around the table, listening to Ranger spat off information about Charles Galveston, our FTA. I listened attentively, taking notes like I was supposed to, all the while imagining that Vin Diesel was telling me about the Galveston's history, only in an Australian accent, because I find his voice alluring and Australian accents tend to make meaningless information sound much more important. Plus, his tone of voice was very different compared to the one I was pointedly trying to zone out.

When Vin started getting into specifics of tonight's job, I started listening to Ranger again.

"He's charming, and quite intelligent. We'll be inside for much longer than a typical take-down."

"How long?" I asked.

"Until we're positive he's comfortable with you. Everyone clear?" he asked finally, attempting to end the meeting so that we could depart accordingly.

"I have a question," Lula said, surprising everyone because really, all bases _were_ covered. Ranger looked at her politely and she continued. "So, say things get out of hand, and all the Merry Men and you are passed out drunk from the alcohol you were consuming—"

"My men and I won't be drinking anything alcoholic. The only one cleared for a drink is Lester, and he'll—"

"Okay. So say Stephanie is so skinny you can't see her, and she starts being in some real danger. Like, this guy starts beating the shit out of her—"

"In the middle of the bar?" I asked, looking around the room for someone to confirm that this wasn't actually a likely scenario.

"He would never have the opportunity to—" Ranger started again.

"So say he starts going bat shit crazy and slapping everybody in the face with chairs. And then he gets on the bar and—"

"Those scenarios are—"

"Say he's being real rough like, and I have a right to defend Stephanie from his drunk psycho rampage. I can shoot him, right?"

"Of course not!" I told her. "There will be no shooting!"

"How come everybody brings guns if there's not going to be any shooting? That don't make a whole lot of sense, now does it?"

"They're for protection."

"That's what I said! I'd be protecting you!"

"None of that is going to happen!" I countered.

The entire room was silent; I was debating asking whose idea it was Lula join us for a distraction.

Ranger had his "I'm thinking about smiling" look, when he answered her. "If you think Stephanie is in danger, by all means, shoot him."

His eyes flickered to me once before settling back on Lula.

"So, I can shoot him? You just said I get to shoot him?"

"If you think Stephanie is in danger, yes."

Lula's eyes got wide and she smiled broadly.

"Hot damn, let's do this!"

* * *

><p>I'd been inside the Blue Gill Thrill for about ten minutes before I heard Tank's voice in my earpiece announcing that Lula was on her way inside the club. Compared to when I had first taken my seat maybe a half hour before, the room was packed, filled with expensive-looking people draped in luxurious jewels and fine fabrics. But I knew I fit in, and I allowed my character to blend into the background.<p>

From where I was seated, in a corner booth off to the side of the bar itself, I could see Lester talking to Galveston, just as he had been for the last twenty minutes or so. They seemed to be warming nicely to one another, chuckling occasionally and exchanging polite stories.

Lula slid into the seat across from me with a giant grin on her face.

I smiled back at her.

"How's it goin'?" I asked.

"This is some exciting shit right now. I better not pee myself or this whole thing is gonna end up real bad."

Lula and I talked for a while, letting our presence sink into the atmosphere around us. I made a point to periodically look over at Lester and Galveston, weighing in on their expressions and gestures while I listened to their conversation. I paid careful attention to their body language, too, watching the transformation of their composure; they both appeared friendlier now, more loosened by alcohol as time progressed, even though Lester wasn't drinking.

"Santos," I heard Tank say over my earpiece, just as I'm sure Lula and Lester did, "Proceed with the approach."

"That woman in the corner keeps looking at you," Lester said, nodding his head in our direction.

I looked over at them just as Galveston turned.

"You know her?" Lester asked.

Galveston turned back around and shook his head.

"She's a looker, though."

"You gonna go talk to her?"

Galveston shrugged before turning back around to look our way again.

I gave him what I thought might be a sultry smile.

"What about her friend?" he asked, facing Lester again.

Lester smiled widely.

Galveston laughed lightly before downing the rest of his drink and standing.

Lester followed him over expertly, swaying slightly with the music.

Lula and I smiled as they approached us.

"Ladies," Galveston greeted us. "I see that your booth has quite a bit of space to share. Care for some company?"

_What a tool._

"Sure," I said, lowering my eyes shyly.

To my surprise, Galveston slid in next to Lula, whose composure faltered for a moment when she caught my eye. I sent her a look that I was shocked she immediately understood—_Go with it_.

Lester plopped next to me and smiled.

"Charles," Galveston said, introducing himself as reached a hand towards Lula, who took it accordingly.

"Stephanie," Lula said, remembering the alias her and I had masterfully come up with earlier.

Galveston shook my hand over the table.

"Lawrence," Lester said, reaching for Lula's hand first.

He then turned to me, his hand extended again.

"And you, Miss?"

I smiled, placing my palm in his, resisting the urge to roll my eyes as he brought the top of my hand to his lips, kissing it lightly.

_Speaking of tools…_

"Patricia."

"A pleasure," he said, returning my hand to me.

"Can we get you ladies something to drink?" Galveston asked, more to Lula than to me.

I interjected before Lula could accept the offer.

"We've already reached our limit for the night, but thank you so much for offering."

"Of course," he said politely, though I could tell he was annoyed that I had answered, rather than Lula.

The conversation remained light between the four of us. I answered questions when I could, hoping to take some of the pressure off of Lula since I was the one we'd planned on being in her seat. After a little while, Lester put his arm around me, and Galveston soon followed suit.

It had to have been at least an hour and a half since we'd heard Tank over our earpieces. Finally, during a story Galveston had been telling about his niece, Ranger's voice rang through my ear.

"We're in position next to the Cayenne. Bring him out."

"It sure is getting late," Lula said, interrupting Galveston in the middle of his story. "You wanna walk me to my car?" she asked.

Galveston was surprised to have been interrupted, but quickly wiped the expression from his face and smiled broadly.

"Of course."

He reached over the table as he stood, extending his hand to me. "It was lovely meeting you," he said, his voice laced with falsities.

"Likewise," I said pleasantly.

"Lawrence," he said, reaching now for Lester's hand. "Great meeting you."

"Enjoy the rest of your night, Charles." Lester replied, obviously reveling in the fact that he knew Galveston was certainly not going to enjoy many nights to come, unless he liked being in prison…

Lester and I sat in the booth, waiting quietly as we watched them push through the doors at the back of the bar.

"Where did you park?" Galveston asked.

"Over in the dark over there," Lula said.

"You don't think I remember you?"

Lester and I froze. Every noise in the club was over-powered by the booming sound of my heart pounding in my chest.

_His words were wrong._

_His tone was wrong._

_Something was wrong._

"You worked for blow on Stark. You're the hooker."

"I ain't no hooker!"

Lester and I were out of the booth, running through the crowd of drunken, stupid people falling all over each other. My skirt hiked up my thighs and my feet throbbed in my heels against the exertion, which caused me to periodically lose my balance and falter.

We weren't moving quickly enough.

"You want some, hooker? You feel that? You feel it, bitch?"

"Get your crazy hands off of me!"

"You like it rough. I remember that, too."

I then heard the unmistakable sound of flesh smacking flesh.

"I'm done now!" Lula cried.

Then there was a muffle over one of the mics, as if something were rubbing against it.

"What's this shit?" Galveston said angrily just before I heard Lula's feed static out.

Then there were the seconds…

Long, drawn seconds of silence, before I heard Ranger's authoritative voice through my ears as Lester pushed through the door to the parking lot.

"Charles Galveston, you're in violation of your bond—"

The loud, resounding echo of a gunshot rang through the air then, followed quickly by four rapid rounds that echoed off of one another.

Tank's voice boomed through my earpiece, loud and demanding, ringing with authority that could not be questioned as he ordered Cal to call 911.


	14. Fourteen Fails

A/N

Don't hate me. I have a load of really good excuses: I haven't had internet for almost two weeks, since I've been house-sitting for my grossly wealthy aunt and uncle. I've been insanely busy as Phi Theta Kappa's new VP of Scholarship, which is insanely exciting and frightening all at once. And... I quit smoking. I don't have to explain that part, do I? Really, writing makes me want to smoke. And so does driving, and reading, and talking on the phone, and breathing... Kudos to anyone who has been successful before me.

This chapter feels... dumb. I think it's my melancholy "I want a cigarette really bad" attitude. But be honest if you're a reviewer. I have some thoughts about this one that I'll share if you're inclined to hear them, but I won't waste another minute babbling.

I think I just missed you guys... a lot.

Disclaimer: Maybe as an outlet for wanting to smoke, I'll write a story about tattooed, smoking, drunken Ranger being sexy... since JE let's me do whatever I want with him...

* * *

><p><em>One gunshot.<em>

_Then less than a second later, four more_.

I stopped running.

It was irrational, but the shock running through me paralyzed me.

_Silence_.

Terrible, unbearable, choking silence.

I felt a chill rise from within me, from the core of my bones, and break through the surface of my skin. Mere seconds passed, carrying the weight of an eternity among them.

_Ranger_.

One gunshot.

Four gunshots.

_Ranger._

I didn't have to tell my feet to start moving again. Suddenly they were bounding forward of their own accord. My body knew it had to move, though my mind could not collect itself to be reasonable.

I wanted to shout for him, begged my mouth to make a noise.

But it wouldn't.

And I ran, blindly, deafly, because it was the only thing I my body would let me do.

Lester was behind me, only keeping pace with me because he had to, because leaving me alone was not an option. I was a liability.

I pumped my burning legs faster, teetering in my heels.

My heart pounded, drowning out everything.

But then I listened, focused, and heard words that both comforted my racing mind and sent me into a different kind of panic.

"I been hit! Oh, lord, I been hit! Abort mission! Woman down! Woman down! I'm paralyzed! I'll never walk again! I'll never ride a bike again! I think I'm going blind! I can see the darkness! The darkness is coming with the blindness! Oh! I've been hit and I'm blind! I'm blind and crippled! I'll never know if my clothes match! I'll never buy shoes again on account of not walking! Someone alert the doctors! I need an eye doctor! I need a cripple doctor!"

"Stop moving!" I heard Tank bellow.

I was running full-tilt through the parking lot towards the Cayenne, knowing that I would stumble upon the chaos if I headed in that direction. My feet shuddered and stumbled with each step in my heels, my indecent skirt hiked dangerously high on my thighs.

Lula continued shouting, which I could hear through the feed of someone else's mic, making it almost impossible for me to make out the other voices trying to calm and quiet her.

"Tank? Tank is that you? I can't see you Tankie! I'm a blind cripple now!"

"Lula, you need to open your eyes."

"Tankie! I'm blind now! I can't see! The whole world is black! I'll never see again!"

"Lula! Open your fucking eyes!" I heard Tank demand.

I finally saw them, Ranger and Tank, hovering over Lula, while Cal stood off to the side speaking on the phone.

"Santos, go stand by Cal," Ranger said to Lester, who followed the order without question.

I couldn't move, looking at him, seeing him standing in front of me. For several seconds, I wasn't angry with him, wasn't hurt, didn't care how he felt about me. All that mattered was that he was alive.

When he looked at me, everything else came rushing back into focus and I remembered that my best friend was now the one who was lying on the asphalt, shot.

"It's a miracle, Tankie! A God for real miracle! I can see you! You're the only thing I can see! You cured my blindness! Where's Stephanie?"

"Lula! You need to calm down!" I told her, crouching down to her as I panted violently to catch my breath.

"Don't you tell me to calm down! I been shot! You ever been shot? My whole life is flashing before my eyes! I see a light! There's a white light! I'm goin' towards it! I'm goin' towards the light, Stephanie! Tell Tankie I don't even care about the cats. Tell Connie to bleach that God awful mustache. Tell Ranger he scares the living shit out of me."

"Paramedics are on their way for transport," Ranger said relayed calmly.

"That's Tank's flashlight," I told her as Tank scanned over her body with his penlight.

"I can't find…" Tank muttered, searching over her.

"What?" I asked, slightly more frantic now that Tank seemed to be alarmed.

"I can't tell where she was shot…"

"There's blood," I whispered to him. "Lula, where were you shot?"

"I been shot! How come I gotta figure out where?"

"There's not a lot, but I think-"Tank froze.

"What?" I asked him just as the ambulance pulled up to the scene; the Rangeman SUV was already long gone.

Two paramedics got out and made their way towards us, nodding to Ranger as they passed by him.

"What do we know? What happened?" the tall, thinner one asked to Tank as they bent over Lula, taking his place.

"Thirty-two-year-old female. 5'9" Approximately 250 pounds. Bullet—"

"Don't you be telling all of everybody what I weigh. That's just rude."

"Bullet grazed flesh of the left buttock."

There was a long, pleading silence while the paramedics, who only paused briefly after hearing the news, worked to secure Lula to a stretcher board, face down.

I needed further clarification and turned to Ranger, who stood staring at the parking lot, Lula to his back, watching the parking lot.

"Just so I'm clear, Lula was shot in the ass, correct?"

He did not turn, did not change his black facial expression; his mouth didn't even twitch. He nodded, which was the only indication that he'd heard me at all.

Ranger rode in the ambulance with Lula, while Tank and I followed them to the hospital in the Cayenne.

"So, is there any particular reason, other than the obvious, why you aren't in the ambulance with your girlfriend?" I asked Tank.

He signaled to turn left while the ambulance continued straight.

"We need to pick up Lula's insurance information at Rangeman."

"Lula doesn't have insurance," I said, knowing full-well that Vinny offered less than even the minimum expected benefits and that her previous employment on the corners of Stark Street were unlikely to have yielded any kind of severance benefits.

Tank just smiled.

Of course Lula had some form of surely fabricated insurance. No way Ranger would have her work this job, date Tank, or be my best friend without it.

"Why didn't Ranger go pick it up? What? Is that _beneath_ him?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

He smiled again.

"It's a two birds with one stone kinda deal."

"What birds?"

The other bird was avoiding having to ride with me; I knew that before I asked.

"Ranger's presence is more easily received at the hospital than my own. She'll be treated well."

"So, what's the other _bird_, Tank?"

Tank tapped the steering wheel and continued driving, shutting me up with his quiet and confirming my "Ranger's avoiding me" suspicions all at once.

_Talk about two birds with one stone…_

"So… what exactly just happened?"

Tank was quiet. I could tell he needed clarification on what exactly I was asking about.

"How was Lula shot in the ass? How was that even remotely possible with how everything was going down?"

"Ranger approached. Galveston was distracted. Lula ran towards the SUV. Galveston fired one round at her."

I swallowed hard, processing all of that. It could have turned out much worse for our team.

"And there were four more shots…"

"Yes."

"Galveston?"

Tank was quiet for a very long time. I assumed, as we pulled into a parking spot in the Rangeman garage, that he had resigned to not answer me. Which really would have been answer enough.

But then he spoke, clearly and directly, so that I would understand.

"When a soldier is given reason to draw his weapon, he shoots to kill. Everytime."

* * *

><p>We spent two hours in the waiting room, Ranger, Tank, and I, until word of Lula reached us. She was settled in for the night in a private room and induced to sleep… probably because she was more easily handled that way. Truthfully, her injuries were not necessarily severe enough to warrant her staying overnight, but she needed doctor's clearance and wasn't going to get that until after the anesthetic had worn off.<p>

I glared at Tank when he voiced that he would stay on the couch in her room as guard until she woke up, knowing full-well that at that point I'd have to face Ranger all by myself.

The drive felt much longer than it was, lengthened awkwardly by the looming silence I couldn't ignore.

It wasn't until he'd parked at Haywood and I'd reached for the door handle that he finally said anything at all.

"Are you okay?" he asked, not looking at me.

I leaned back in the seat, sighing loudly, deciding to be honest with the man who said he didn't want to be my friend, but couldn't help acting like it once in a while.

"I don't know."

He was quiet again, but didn't make a move to get out of the vehicle.

"Are _you_?" I asked.

His eyes met mine. I felt like if he'd been anyone else, he would have spilled every thought he had been having right there in the cab of the car and we could have been through with the run-around bullshit.

But he was Ranger. And Ranger was always just fine, even when he wasn't, because he had to be. He wouldn't answer me; I knew he wouldn't. I had never expected him to.

"Why aren't you wearing your earrings anymore?" he asked, noticing the earrings I'd borrowed from Lester. I did not recognize the expression on his face.

I scoffed.

"_Really_? Did you _actually_ just ask me that?"

His face didn't move.

"It's a perfectly reasonable question, Stephanie."

I could feel my temperature rising and took a deep breath in order to calm myself.

I was over _this_—over his crazy possessive nature that I didn't understand and that he only displayed when I was held at a safe distance. I was over feeling like I wasn't strong enough, or brave enough, or good enough to be considered his equal. I was done with secrets, and innuendos, and half-assed replies that shrouded me with more questions.

I couldn't do it; not without more.

We were nothing, right? That's how he wanted it. He wanted nothing but what he could share with an employee—we weren't even friends, right? _Right_?

My tone was not kind when I answered him. I was frustrated with him, and I was not going to do anything to hide that fact.

"In case you missed last night's argument, _you_ broke up with _me_. I didn't think that it was appropriate for me to wear a token of the relationship that you and I no longer share."

If he had said that to me, I would have broken down and sobbed. I would have hurt.

I hated to admit it, but that had been my intention—to hurt him. But he remained immobile, ever-calm.

"We did not break up. We were never exclusive."

"Semantics!" I said pointedly, though I felt as if he'd knocked the wind out of me. Perhaps that was how I'd made him feel with my last statement and he was simply incredibly perfect at not showing his hurt. And okay, it wasn't like he'd said anything that wasn't true. We _weren't_ exclusive. We never declared or announced anything specific.

But for me, _it_, my entire heart's encompassing, was _only_ him. If I wasn't with Morelli, _it_ was Ranger. Maybe even when I was with Joe… But I could never allow myself to admit that, confess that I'd been as emotionally unfaithful as I had been physically.

Regardless, it was no one else for me when Ranger was even remotely in the picture. I was stupid to assume that that concept was a shared one; I was stupid to assume that Ranger was ever realistically in any sort of picture.

He continued. "The earrings were a symbolization of my impression of you. Their uniqueness related to your personality."

"I'll have Ella return them to your apartment the next time I see her."

"That's really unnecessary. They were a gift that I intended for you to keep and wear."

"Are we _honestly_ having some stupid conversation about earrings?"

He stared at me like I was crazy.

"_You_ are the one who set up the boundaries, Ranger, which I understood perfectly well." I pointed my finger at him as I spoke. "If you're going to draw lines for us, you don't get to pick and choose when you can cross them. That is _not_ how this works. Figure your shit out."

I yanked the door handle, climbed out of the Porsche, slammed the door, and walked away.

* * *

><p>I was in tears by the time I reached Hector's apartment.<p>

I pounded on the door incessantly, not waiting politely after the first few knocks.

He answered quickly, appearing distracted when he did so, and let me in without question.

I stood in the doorway, wiping at my eyes as I tried to regain some composure. Hector had perched himself at the end of his couch and was staring at the air in front of him.

"You okay?" I sighed in question.

He turned his head slowly in my direction but did not meet my eyes.

Very slightly, he shook his head back and forth.

"Love is trouble," he expressed sadly.

I went over and sat next to him.

"Try being in love with _your_ boss," I muttered bitterly.

It was quiet for a moment between the two of us, each lost in our own chaotic thoughts.

I'm not sure where it all came from, but I started talking, ranting, spilling everything into his lap, which is something that I'd been doing a lot lately. I stood and began pacing in front of him, begging him to understand everything I was saying, because I needed _someone_ to listen and not disregard how I felt. I needed one of _these_ men, so consumed by the entity that was the Rangeman company, to hear what it was like from the outside. Because even though I was one of them, I wasn't. I never would be like they were.

"You know what? There are people in this world who are just as crazy as I am. They'd put themselves out there, headfirst, for the chance to fall in love with one of you, even knowing full-well that you're all guarded and dark and composed. Just like me, they'd get it right from the start that you could be called on some top-secret, world-saving assignment and not have the chance to say goodbye, even if it were unlikely you ever came back."

By now there were hot tears burning behind my eyes and strangling my words, choking me with their heavy truth. I stopped pacing, and turned to him. He was now standing, soaking up everything that I was saying as best he could.

"I don't want him to change for me. I want him just exactly the way he is—dark, and deep, and damaged. I see so much of who he is—his compassion and his heroism, his selflessness. I love that he isn't conventional and feels no need to conform. I just want him to… all I want…"

I sighed, because the tightness was suffocating me, but I continued regardless. "I know he loves me, Hector. I know that he cares about me. But _God… that's_ what makes it hurt more than _anything_. If he didn't want anything to do with me, I think I could accept that. But knowing that he deprives himself of something _so good_, something he deserves, only because…"

A sudden realization came over me at that moment, one that changed the entire spectrum of conversation.

My voice cracked and the salty tears finally broke through my deteriorating barrier as awareness consumed my carelessness, cascading in hot streams down my cheeks. I felt like an idiot, like I'd just walked into the control room naked demanding a new wardrobe.

I had seconds to decide what to do, and found quickly that the sudden epiphany changed nearly nothing. I was going to keep talking, but it was going to mean that much more, now.

"When you meet someone," I said, taking one of his large hands in both of mine, more aware of what I was saying than before, "He'll understand that everything, every emotion you have, has to remain behind a wall, and that the risk of falling in love with you is much more than the average. He'll know that all defenses must be in place, and that you'll only be able to voice feelings for one another behind closed doors, away from the prying eyes of your enemies." I paused, allowing him to process whatever part of that he'd been able to understand. "But he's going to understand better than you _ever_ _will_ that the risk is completely worth it."

I removed my hands from him, staring deeply into his eyes, feeling I had thrown a stone over his carefully guarded wall, and that my message was received and understood in quiet thanks.

I steeled myself for my next words; they were just as purposeful as the rest of my speech, but all the more pointed.

"You listen to me. You are not going to die alone in this world unless that's a decision you make yourself. You can't control how someone else feels for you, or even how you feel for someone else. But you can control how you act upon those feelings. Will you shove them away to a dark corner? Bury them under …anger? Or indifference?" I stared Hector in the eyes; he did not move or even attempt to look away.

My words were still pouring from my lips in earnest; I couldn't have stopped them from coming if I wanted to. They begged to be released, and so I freed them.

"Everyone has a breaking point," I whispered. "He could leave you. He could leave you and move on, and find solace in another man's arms and be completely fine letting someone else love… _him_. Maybe that's what you want. But don't fool yourself that it would change anything. Us crazy people? We love harder than the rest. He would never stop loving you. Ever. He's going to love you until he stops breathing, which would make living with your rejection all that more painful. He'd ache with it. But you'd ache just as well, knowing he shares a bed with someone who was willing to acknowledge his love for the man you were supposed to be with before he was forced to live forever without him."

I took a deep breath, wiping the sticky tears from my face and forcing myself to walk out of this strong. "You don't have to be alone, Hector. All you'd have to say to him is that you don't want to be."

He stared at me blankly, nodding as if that was the answer.

Surprisingly enough, it was. He then motioned to my breasts, and I nodded back at him, understanding that he understood.

He held up a finger for me to wait, and so I did.

He spoke brokenly, but firmly.

"You deserve better than the broken men we are," he said.

I shook my head.

"You're the best men I know."

I then took the opportunity to reach under my skirt, revealing more skin than I would have ordinarily been comfortable showing, and ripped the tape from inside of my thigh. I glanced a peek at Hector, who looked completely calm as I let the cord feed unravel to my knees and reached through the top of my dress to un-tape the mic from between my breasts, allowing the entire line to spill to the floor between my legs.

"I'm going to my parents'. I can't be here anymore." I moved to him and kissed him on the cheek. "I love you. Thank you for listening."

Hector nodded.

I grabbed my purse, deciding to leave everything else because escaping was more important than being prepared at this point.

"For the record," I raised my voice, knowing that if I was going to be heard through the microphone from where I was standing that I was going to have to speak louder. "I don't regret any of it. None of it. If I had known that every moment in my life would lead to the heartache I'm feeling now, even knowing that it would almost tear me apart, I wouldn't change anything. The few days I've had with him outweigh it all. The best thing to ever happen to me that I had absolutely no want for was falling in love with a great man, who didn't know how to love me back."

* * *

><p>AN

Blah, Blah, I love you people, Blah. I'll update as soon as I can. Promise.


	15. Fifteen Minutes of Fine

Stupidly long A/N:

Le sigh. School is blah'ing my life right now. I'm stressed. I must warn you now that I am going to _try_ to update regularly, but I cannot give you any sort of concrete time frame. I'm NOT leaving, I'm just going to have a little bit more time in-between chapters. Summer school is a daunting undertaking, and we've just started research for the honor society's annual project. I'm swamped.

Really, this chapter is being posted even though I'm not as far along as I'd like to be. I just feel super bad for making you wait.

And I realized today that this is supposed to be fun for all of us, right? I'm doing something I love to do: writing. And I'm sharing it with all you people who, at the very least, love to read. So... if I start making this a chore, and start forcing myself to push these chapters out even though I'm busied with so many other things, I'm going to hate doing it. And the quality of my work will suffer. And then Ranger will suffer. And regardless of whether or not he deserves to suffer at this point in the plot, we don't want him to suffer. So, then you'll all suffer for Ranger's suffering...

I'm going to save us some suffering, keep it casual, and continue to love this at a pace we can all enjoy. I'm not going to stress. I'm going write. And we're going to love this together, healthily.

Deal?

And just by the way, thank you so much not only to those of you that commented on the last chapter, which I now do not hate as much as I originally did, but to those of you who offered advice on quitting smoking. I'm still nicotine-free so far!

And before you get tired of reading before you get to the good stuff, I'm going to tell you a little bit about the good stuff...  
>This chapter is a little bit of a baby for me. Last chapter, as well as this one, have been with me long before I started this story. I feel this one is very personal, very emotional. It's a whole different kind of roller coaster, I think. It's one of those ones where I certainly hope you enjoy it, but I'm less-reliant on any constructive criticism this time. It's too close to home for me to build on, if that makes any sense at all.<p>

Rating notice: Don't let babies read this chapter.

Disclaimer: Ranger doesn't believe that we're in a zombie apocalypse. Seriously. Give him a break.

* * *

><p>As soon as I arrived at my parents' house, I trudged up the stairs, kicked off my shoes, and fell asleep as my head collided with the mattress.<p>

It couldn't have been much longer after that that I woke to the feeling of someone watching me.

I froze and felt tears well in my eyes. Fear gripped my body. I knew I was being watched, knew that the sanctuary of my childhood bedroom was being violated by the presence of another human being.

I thought of my Glock, tucked next to Hector's food processor in the cabinet above his refrigerator.

"It's me," he said, immediately dissipating all terrorizing emotions.

"What are you doing here, Ranger?" I sighed, as tired emotionally as I was physically, while I tried to calm my body back from the seconds of adrenaline.

"I believe you call it babysitting."

I sat up and saw him sitting against the wall in the corner of the room, in much the same position he'd been in the night I found him in the gym.

"Aren't you tired? Didn't send me any Merry Men to harass?" I asked.

He shrugged.

I listened to the hum of silence for a moment as I thought my next question over carefully.

"Can I ask you something?"

He was polite when he answered.

"Yes."

I sighed heavily.

"Are you angry with me?"

The quiet stretch between my question and his answer dragged on and on before he finally spoke.

"Why do you ask?" he questioned, which surprised me.

It was almost as if we were having an actual conversation.

"Because I've said a lot of things lately that would certainly warrant _anger_… especially from you."

He pushed off the floor and came over to sit at the edge of my bed.

Beams of white moonlight permeated the darkness, outlining his face in brilliant greys.

"Stephanie, you frustrate me."

_What?_

"Well, you're one to talk about—"

"You _frustrate_ me, and confuse me, and push me to the very edge of my patience. You're stubborn, and unpredictable, uncontainable, rash. You act on your heart's whim and don't let anyone's logic get in the way of anything you have your mind set to do. But you need to understand that anger still isn't something I have the ability to feel towards you, despite the fact that I'm sure life would be much easier if that were the case."

"Oh? And how is that? You've named plenty of reasons no one would ever want to associate themselves with me! I'm confusing, and irrational, and stubborn…" I said bitterly.

I hated that he was still calm when I was so quickly heated.

"I suppose that feeling the way that I do for you was the first time that something I had _no want for_ ended up being something that I didn't really mind. I believe it was the first time that I had ever experienced something positive after I'd realized that I no longer controlled what was happening."

And it hit me:

_"The best thing to ever happen to me that I had absolutely no want for was falling in love…"_

What a clever man, to use my own words against me in one of the most poetic of ways…

I felt my eyes tear up despite his continued scrutiny of my face.

His face was professionally immobile, as if we were talking about numbers, rather than hearts.

"Why did you take the earrings off?" he asked, surprising me for the second time in thirty seconds.

I sighed. "Why are the earrings such a big deal?"

"They were a gift."

"And?"

"And... I gave them to you," he said, not understanding what I did not seem to comprehend.

"So?"

"So… they're important."

I adjusted how I was sitting, scooting a little bit further away from him.

"I already called Hector and told him to give them to you. They're on his bathroom counter."

He shook his head and reached into his right pocket, pulling out the small, velvet box that Lester's mother's earrings, which I were still wearing, had been stored in.

"They aren't mine. They were a gift to you," he said, setting the box on the bed between us.

"Well, maybe I'll just gift them right back to you!" I told him, shoving the box closer to him.

He ran his hand over the top of his smoothed back hair.

"I don't understand why you won't wear them."

"This is so stupid, Ranger!" I paused, gaging his perfect face. "Don't you see how pointless this run-around is? Doesn't it hurt you? Aren't you sick of it?"

"I'm not even sure what our conversations are about anymore, Stephanie."

He continued to stare at me before he found a more interesting spot on the floor to look at.

But I looked at him, implored him with my mind before I could no longer restrain my thoughts.

"Why won't you just _fucking_ say it?" I asked quietly.

His face moved again to look at me; we both understood. I knew it the moment his eyes met mine. There were no questions.

"Will you just say it? _Please_?" I pleaded. "It's what the earrings are about, right? It's what all the turmoil has been about, all the bullshit, Ranger. Shoving me back to Morelli even though you wanted me, spending obscene amounts of money on me, paying my bills before I got them because you knew that I'd be behind, right? And then there was having only your medical team work on my recovery, pulling me from the Lumoinelli case, breaking up with me…" my voice broke off at the end.

A tear channeled a single lonely trail down my cheek; I made no attempt to wipe it away.

I was done being strong, done fighting for this man of pretty words and innuendos, who made no commitment through concrete words! I was done fighting a professional fighter. I was too far outside of my league.

But truthfully, I was in too deep to give up this moment, too. This was a fight I knew I could not win, but I was _not_ going to surrender quietly.

This was going to be a bloodbath.

And I was going out with a bang- with nukes and fireworks.

I stood up angrily, keeping my voice low as I stood over him.

"Say it!" I urged with more passion than noise.

He continued to sit there, staring at the scarred wood underneath my bare feet.

"You think I'm going to sit here and let you fucking hide from me? Really? The Great Ranger hiding from Stephanie "The Funeral Bomber" Plum!"

He just sat there, taking it all, staring at the fucking floor.

"You _coward_! Tell me right now that you don't—"

He stood up quickly, making me stumble backwards into my dresser as his body moved forward, enveloping me in a violent kiss that rocked me to my core and silenced me immediately.

I was shocked, stunned.

And then I was shocked in an entirely new way, electrofied by the warm, buzzing sensations coursing through me.

He was everywhere, hot and beautiful, demanding my submission, encompassing my very soul with the pressure of his hands, the sweet warmth of his tongue. I felt myself lifted as he sat me on top of the dresser, knocking over a lamp but not allowing our mouths to be separated.

I moaned loudly into him, begging him without words, pleading for him to just _fucking do it. Right now_. Maybe this was what we needed, this raw, primitive desire to consume each other, all the while allowing ourselves to be consumed.

I pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it carelessly into the black abyss of the bedroom, not caring about anything but him touching me, which he continued to do in earnest.

His mouth left mine and before I could whine in protest the noise was swallowed by an embarrassing mewl of primal, unabashed pleading as he took my nipple into his expert mouth.

I tried to form words, to say his name and beg him for more, but the sensations were too much for my body to understand and my attempts at speech were blanketed in desperate pants and pleased cries.

I'm not sure when his shirt disappeared, but it did because when he moved back to my mouth, my own abandoned his and explored his taught throat, the slight dip of his collar bones, the hard planes and valley-lay of his pectorals.

He only sighed quietly at the sensations, threading his hands in my hair as I reached under his arms and behind him to untie his own.

There was a specific urgency to our kisses, our touches.

And suddenly, there was not… as if a switch had flipped and changed the pace.

The air in the room sweetened, tickling my naked skin.

Our foreheads together, we panted heavily. We took the moment to stare at one another as we tried desperately to define the feeling that I could tell we were surely sharing in that moment—I was too connected to him right now, inexplicably so, to have believed that I was the only one attempting to name the energy pulsing in the air around us.

He reached for me, entangling my limbs across his upper torso, lifting me from the top of the dresser and turning around to face the bed.

He paused, staring right through me as the blue-white moonbeams paled his skin and darkened the shadows of his face.

He kissed me lightly, with just a small brush of his tongue to the top of my lips, before placing me on the bed and standing over me.

I admired his beautiful, perfect, tear-worthy body then, noticing things about him that I'd never really been given the opportunity to notice before:

The dark freckle nestled in the left arm of the "V" muscle dipping in his abdomen.

A litter of lightened, aged scars tearing across his chest.

Three round, ragged indentations marring the muscled pattern of his abdomen. Bullet wounds.

I felt tears come to my eyes.

Had I never really looked at him before? _Really_ looked? In the way that he was looking at me now?

His eyes drove themselves into me, digging, claiming something that I thought I'd given to someone else, someone I couldn't remember now, a very long time ago. He'd touched me, seized me completely; I had been captured without any willingness to escape and then drowned happily in the depths of understanding. This was the moment that so suddenly moved me to brief confidence.

I felt adored.

I felt cherished.

I felt everything I couldn't remember feeling before, though I could taste a memory of the sensations. They'd been there before, just never so proud and known.

He leaned over depositing a hard, solidifying kiss on my mouth, and leaned back again, still hovering over my tingling body.

"Say it, Ranger," I whispered, feeling tears form in my eyes. I needed to hear it. I deserved to hear it. Especially after feeling… whatever we'd just felt. "Say it and I swear I'll never ask for anything from you ever again.

He collapsed then, half on top of me, half beside me as he hummed a low, displeased moan, breaking the trance, erasing the mood, shoving me back into our two separate bodies.

_And I was a fool._

* * *

><p>We laid there for a long time. I was comforted by the heavy weight of the left side of his body on mine and lazily watched the easy rise and fall of my left arm and the tiny shadows of his back as he breathed.<p>

After a while, I wondered if he'd fallen asleep. Coincidentally, he chose the same time to turn his head to face me, probably wondering the same thing.

"I'm tired of being mad at you," I whispered plainly. "It's exhausting, you know."

This earned me a small, sad smile.

"I'm sure it is," he replied, twisting the bottom half of his body off of me and burying his face into my neck possessively.

"I'd like to ask you something, and I would like you to be honest with me," he finally voiced into the darkness beside my left ear.

"Go for it," I replied, still hurt that we'd ended up in this position, despite the push and passion.

I began tracing patterns with my fingers along his scalp as I waited for him to speak.

"You knew I was listening."

"That's not a question."

"No, it wasn't. I would like to know if you meant what you'd said."

"That wasn't a question either," I said, giving myself a smile for my genius.

"Babe."

I shifted slightly, gently pulling his head up by his hair so I could look him in the eyes.

"Which part?" I asked, turning serious again.

He turned to his side and I moved so that I was laying with my head on his bicep.

"You said that you didn't regret anything that has happened between us."

I could hear the vulnerability I was feeling leak into my voice when I asked, "Do you?"

"I have a lot of regrets," he confessed, his eyes glazing over for the briefest of moments before returning to the present.

I took that as a "Yes, I regret you, Stephanie Plum. You're a giant pain in my ass who can't even shut up long enough to let me have some fantastic sex with you for a couple minutes..."

"I don't regret any of it, Ranger."

I could see the question in his eyes begging me to elaborate.

I sat up, pulling a black piece of clothing, which I assumed was his forgotten shirt, over my chest when I realized I was topless. "I'm hurt. And I'm angry and frustrated." I sighed, looking down at his stoic face. "Honestly, I'd really like to punch you in the face way too often. But I wouldn't take anything back, even if I knew that it would get me to right where I am now. Which, if you're asking an audience, is essentially nowhere. We're right where we've always been, except maybe a little bit worse. But I wouldn't erase you."

I sighed and closed my eyes, gathering my thoughts. I wanted to tell him exactly what I needed to, in a way that wouldn't leave any miscommunication.

I leaned back again, positioning myself with my head below the window, and pulled on his arm so he would do the same. The entire right side of my body ended up flush with his left, and I could feel his heart beating against my arm. It was a strange sensation, which I almost lost myself in. But then I remembered where I was going, and forced my eyes to the sky.

"Do you see that star, the brightest one next to that cluster?" I asked, pointing.

He adjusted slightly and then whispered lowly into the air near my ear.

"Yes."

"When I was a little girl, I used to lay here and watch that star. Every night I would stare at it and whisper to it my most fantastic dreams; I'd tell it secrets of how I wanted to be great someday. It was _my_ star. I wished that someday I would grow up to be as pretty as Valerie always had been, or that I would be as smart as she was. Sometimes, I would cry to it, tell it that all I ever wanted was to be good enough for people to care about who I was. I didn't want to be special; I just wanted to be normal and accepted. And then there were those other nights, the ones that were so dark... All I'd wish for was to not be alone."

I turned to him and looked into his eyes, which were just inches away from mine.

"I was completely convinced that that star would help me become the person everyone always needed me to be or that it could save me from whatever I needed it to."

I faced the star again, so bright and perfect against the dark backdrop of sky that it was hard to see the deceit that shone behind it.

"When my grandpa got really sick, I wished on that star, wished that he would get better, that he'd be okay. I promised that it would be the last wish I would ever make, if only he would be okay. And then he wasn't…

"It was a few months later that I learned in school that a lot of the stars that we see in the sky actually died a long time ago. It can take millions of years for us to see their light go out. For a very long time, I figured that my wish for my grandpa to get better never came true because I had been wishing on magic that had died a long time ago."

I turned my head to look at him, and found myself inches from him; we were close enough to share air between us.

"So, am I the star or am I your grandfather?" he asked quietly.

I shook my head.

"Neither. It's not about you. It's about the wish. You and I? That's what we are together."

His eyebrows furrowed.

"So, you don't have any regrets, because we never had a chance anyway?"

I shook my head, but I could tell by his eyes that he needed more.

"Nope. The star, my grandfather… We aren't _dead_, Ranger. We are hope, and trust, and faith, and pure, unadulterated desire. Even if all of that is empty, never to be anything, that's still what we are. Our existence together mattered, even if there was nothing real about it." I sighed.

We were quiet for a long time, staring at the sky.

"Nothing about my relationship with you has ever been artificial as far as I am concerned. It was always real."

"That's why you run away. Things get too real, too close to home, and you run. You're this brilliant, courageous man, and the only thing that you've ever been afraid of is me."

I saw him turn his head to look at me in my periphery, but I maintained a forward gaze into the sky.

"See?" I said, noting his silence and drawing a joyless smile. "You can't even argue with that."

I heard him chuckle humorlessly.

"I am afraid of a lot of things."

I could sense that he was going to say something else, could feel it pushing against the silence I waited less than patiently through.

"You're simply most frightening of my fears," he admitted, turning back towards the sky.

I smiled truly at that.

This man, with his words and gazes alone, had all the power to break my resolve and thrust me into a state of complete self-doubt. I was like a teenager vying with my better judgment, always falling victim to my overwhelming emotions. He'd hurt me, torn me down. But we both knew that as much as he'd done, he could have left me in a much more drastic state.

Ranger had left me when things had gotten real. Whether he'd intended for it to seem like that or not, whether he had intended to hurt me or not, whether he had had intentions of protecting me or not, he had left.

But he was still only a phone call away or a hundred steps down the hall, a ride on the elevator. He hadn't disappeared. He was still _there, _within reach, tangible.

He could have abandoned me completely, though. He could have caught the first flight to Miami or Cuba or Timbuktu, and I wouldn't have ever had the right to reach for him.

He would have been completely gone, untouchable, and that was my greatest fear of all.

I needed him here in whatever capacity we could muster. It was the same reason I couldn't bring myself to regret where we stood now:

I didn't care how fucked up it was, at least it _was_.

"I'm afraid too, you know. I'm constantly afraid that you're going to just up and leave one day because that's what you think is best. And I won't even get a say in any of it."

Now I turned my head and looked at him.

"You can trust me to be here, at least," I said.

He looked through me, trying to convey through telepathy what he wanted me to know. He gave up, of course, because my spidey senses are not that advanced.

"I can't give you what you need, Babe."

"I don't need anything from you; I just _want_ you."

He closed the small distance between us and placed a soft kiss to my forehead.

"I know," he said.

"So, do we get to pretend that everything's okay, now? Just for tonight? I know it isn't, but like I said, it's really hard to be constantly angry with you."

He shook his head.

"We don't do pretend, Babe."


	16. Salted Sixteen

A/N

**Author cowers in fear of reader retaliation after two-week absence

Hi! Hey! Hellooo!

Miss me? And my mopey characters? And the sporatic "ha-ha"s? I missed you guys. A lots. Seriously. If you're reading this, thanks for still being around. I gave you adequate warning about my current flakiness because of my overwhelming amount of busy-ness, right?

But I am back tonight despite every obstacle!

Hooray!

Okay, down to business.

Dig the new cover photo for Shaded Spades? Sums up all the angst pretty well, I think.

So, I re-wrote this chapter a hundred times, because in all honesty... this is a big one to commit toposting. This is where the game starts to change. The next couple chapters are going to be tinkering with the plot. Excited? BE!

I do recall being scolded the last several chapters for having failed to issue a "Tissue Warning". Consider yourselves warned for the weepy-time potential, from the the moment this Author's note is ovah. And also, feel free to laugh for a couple paragraphs. I tried to give some comedic relief for those of you I know are suffering for it. But, again, BE WARNED!

Love you all! Happy Day One of Summer!

Good luck in your lives!

Happy reading!

And...

Live long and prosper?

Yes.

Do that.

MUAH!

(^Yep. I'm in a "muah-ing" mood. Found out a little bit ago I recieved a scholarship that I desperately needed next year. There is a happy dance going on in my brain, and you all deserved a cyber-kiss because of it.)

:)

* * *

><p>"See? She drags all the both of you all the way over here with pizza for me and Connie and she don't even want to eat any of it! Last week it was doughnuts, and before that it was chicken. You think she'd want to be eatin' as much as she could in times like these to keep up her mood strength. We been tryin' to feed her every time she's over here, but she's just not bein' appreciative of the efforts. All she does is work, work, work, and then she's sittin' in a cloud of dumb over in the corner pretendin' that she's not all messed up, even though everybody knows she's all messed up. How come you keep lookin' at me like that? Everybody knows about all of that, I'm just re-informin' you of how it is. She's gonna start gettin' sickly. Doesn't she already look sickly, Connie?" Lula asked as she lounged on the couch with a baby feeding cushion shoved under her healed-weeks-ago-and-never-actually-required-a-baby-feeding-cushion backside and waved a slice of pizza at Connie and my Merry Men entourage.<p>

"I think she just looks tired," Connie said as she took a bite of the pizza Tank, Lester, and I had just delivered.

"Well, probably because her mood strength is so low. She hasn't been eating any of those foods that boost your mood strength."

"She eats with _us_," Lester chimed in.

Lula turned quickly to look at him.

"See all your muscles? That's proof you're not takin' care of your mood strength! When was the last time you had bread? Probably you don't even remember how strong your mood strength is after a nice piece of bread. How is she supposed to have any mood strength around you if you don't have any?"

"Bread doesn't make me happier," Lester replied.

"Well, that's because you don't eat if often enough. It knows you don't appreciate its qualities."

"The bread?"

"She _has_ been kind of crabby lately," Connie mentioned nonchalantly.

I dropped my hands to my thighs, clutching the file I'd been trying to concentrate on reading.

"I'm _right_ here!"

"You just realized that?" Lula asked seriously. "What? Where else would you be?" She directed her next comment to Tank. "See? She's delusional 'cause of her low mood strength!"

"You're talking about me like I'm not even here!"

"Well, if I'd a known you were listening, I would have included you more in our conversating."

"We need to go," I exclaimed, shoving out of the chair I'd been sitting in and making my way to the door. "We'll be back next week to drop these puppies off," I told Connie, waving the stack of files she'd just given me.

"Call me if you need anything, Steph," she said in reply.

In all honesty, it was nice that someone was worried about me. Admittedly, I was not entirely okay. On the outside, any normal human being would have thought that my sudden dedication to work, my health_ier_ eating habits, and my almost-regular exercise schedule would have been great self-improvement mechanisms to better myself.

But… I guess it was all a charade.

I didn't eat to enjoy; I ate to fuel.

I fueled to run, which I'd been doing much more often lately.

And I ran to escape.

That's what I understood, and it worked for me.

The Merry Men didn't get it.

Lula did.

_Go figure._

Work had been an easy avenue to maneuver because the case loads had been hard, research had been extensive, and progress had been crucial. I didn't have any time to think about anything else if I buried myself in my job, which is exactly what I had been doing.

From the office, Lester and Tank drove me to my apartment building, walked me upstairs, and deposited me in my recently Rangeman-monitored home where I stood over the counter scarfing a handful of peanuts. I'd been living back in my old, but newly finished, apartment now for almost two weeks, but didn't allow myself to feel much emotion about the whole ordeal. In all honesty, I should have been relieved to be back in my home.

But it didn't _feel_ like home anymore; something was missing. Or everything was missing.

My sparse apartment was now the place where my life quite literally exploded. It was where my small collection of possessions, along with the idea of my sanity, went up in flames. It was now the place my privacy was more abruptly stolen from me than it ever had been before. And it had become the place, since the last time that I'd set foot through the threshold, that I thought that Ranger had died…

And truly, I missed the hustle and bustle of coming and going Merry Men. I missed Hector's home-cooked meals and heavenly couch. I missed Lester's stupid sexual innuendos.

And most certainly, I hadn't felt completely safe since I'd started living by myself again.

I felt watched.

Of course, I _should_ have felt watched. The entire building, every floor, the elevator, the stairwell, the entrances and fire exits, was on a live feed to the control room at Rangeman. Like the professional he is, Tank had approached Dillon with the idea of a security system to protect not only my safety but the safety of the other residents. Of course, it would have been installed with or without Dillon's permission, but his eager acceptance of the idea after hearing about the _complimentary_ nature of the system made any legal and moral issues null.

As far as leads on the actual need for the security system, i.e. my deranged sociopathic stalker, we were still in the same boat we'd been in weeks ago. Mostly, I suppose, because nothing new had happened. Everything had ceased after the explosion and after I'd moved into Rangeman. Even since moving back into the apartment, there was nothing new.

No notes. No roses. And no photographs.

I assumed both for my sanity and for optimism's sake that he was done with me. And really, if I wanted to feel anything about anything at this point, my life could have used some optimism.

My phone rang then, startling me out of my stupor and causing me to choke on the last bit of my sandwich.

My frenzied hand dug into my pocket attempting to retrieve my phone as I tried to dislodge crumbs from my esophagus. Because it could have been the call I'd been waiting for, the one I'd needed for nearly six weeks now…

I felt my adrenaline rush completely doused with disappointment as I read the caller ID across the screen. It took me several seconds to catch my breath and compose myself before I answered, but I could still feel my hands trembling.

"Hey, Mom."

"Are you coming to dinner tonight? I made a meatloaf."

I considered, still tasting peanuts on my tongue. My mother made fantastic meatloaf, but that wasn't why I would go. I'd been avoiding my family lately, too caught up in the immediacy of my employment and my own personal turmoil.

"I don't know, Mom. I really have a lot of work to get done tonight."

She was silent on the other end of the phone and I wondered if she knew that even if I hadn't been listening to her quiet, I would have heard the blaring disappointment in her lack of response. There was no note of disapproval, only rejection. That made it worse.

"I made caramel cake."

I sighed.

"Raincheck?" I asked, truly feeling bad that I'd been avoiding my family.

I heard another receiver pick up.

"Stephanie?"

It was Grandma Mazur.

I sighed again.

"Yes?"

I could feel the guilt piling on, though I wasn't totally prepared to deal with it tonight. Today had been a day for the books, and I was not feeling as put together as I usually did. Lately, autopilot got me through the day. Today, however, I was exhausted, and I was cranky.

"Is this about that boyfriend of yours with the gun? Lester? That man is more than welcome to sit at a spot next to me! Or that big black man? You could bring that big black man with the gun. He doesn't talk much, but I like him all the same. You have so many of them I get them confused sometimes. Oh! Or that Mexican with the gun you brought last time, you could bring him! He was mighty—"

"He was a nice boy, but I'm not sure about those face tattoos," my mother added.

"This isn't about any of my _coworkers_! Okay? I just have a lot to get done. I'm… sorry."

"Well… is this about that Ranger? Maybe if you brought your Mexican boyfriend with the face tattoos—"

"This is not about Ranger! I just have a lot of work to do."

"What about Joseph? Is this about that secret job he's on?"

"He's on vacation in New York, Mom."

"I thought he was on a secret police job."

"If it's a secret, then why would anyone but the police know about it? I'm pretty sure he just took some time off."

"Well, I heard it was a top-secret detective adventure! That's what Eddie Gazarra's mother, Adeline, said. Adeline is almost always right about what's going on with the policemen. She distinctly remembered that he was undercover as a Jewish jeweler in Brooklyn. So, that's why you won't come for dinner?" My grandmother asked.

"No!"

"Will you come Friday, then? I'll make a brisket. You like brisket."

I sighed again.

"I'll call you, Mom."

* * *

><p>"Are you working the renovation job tonight?" I asked Lester as he leaned against the wall of my cubicle, munching on an entire cucumber.<p>

"Nope. I've got a date."

"I thought you had a date last night?" I asked, typing out a review for Tank for one of our new recruits.

Lester smiled broadly and bit into the cucumber.

Chewing, he answered with a muffled, "I did."

"She must be _some_ girl."

For the last three weeks or so Lester had been seeing Dillon's sister, Elizabeth. Considering Lester's track record, it was strange for me to think of him forming any sort of long-term, monogamous relationship.

"You know, when I told her what I do, she didn't look at me like she was afraid of me. Made me think of you a little bit.

I spun away from my computer to look at him.

"Why would she be afraid of you?"

"I'm not exactly a plumber, Steph."

"Okay…? You're not a garbage man either. I don't get it."

He took another bite, chewed it consciously, and swallowed. Then he looked at me hard for a few seconds.

"You never really got it either, I guess."

I sighed.

"Are we even having a conversation? Or is this you just talking to yourself in my general direction?"

He smiled broadly and shook his head.

"Don't you just tell her you're in security?" I asked. "What's scary about a security guard?"

He shrugged.

"I don't entirely look like your ho-hum mall cop."

"True."

"Sometimes she asks questions, and then I answer them honestly. I don't really have any reason to lie to the ones I really like. I like this one."

I nodded.

"That's really great, Les. I'm really, really happy to hear that."

"Yeah," he said, nodding and staring at the floor, contemplating.

He was quiet for a few moments, lost inside of his head.

Then the moment died and he looked up, smiling like an asshole.

"Plus the sex is _incredible_! I mean, I'm _good_, like, _really_ good, and I've never met anyone even—"

"Get back to work, Santos," I told him, turning back to my computer with a tiny smile on my face.

"Oh, I could show you work, Beautiful."

"You're disgusting."

He laughed.

"I could show you _that_, too."

* * *

><p>I worked through lunch, pounding away at my keyboard until long after the sun had set. Immersing myself, this is what I was good at. I didn't mind the distraction. Lately, my thoughts were torturing me in a way that they hadn't for a very long time. It was surprising, the amount of fear that I'd instilled myself with.<p>

But fear itself would have been fine to handle.

It was the fear mixed with anger that I'd been harboring for weeks and weeks, that jumbled my thoughts and caused my mind to lose focus. Losing focus wasn't something I could afford at this point. And the confusion.

Months and months of questioning these reasons for the events in my life and I still couldn't produce an answer that made any sense.

It had been-

"Clock out, Plum," a booming voice called from behind me, startling me and intruding upon the beginning of some dangerous thoughts. I was nearly glad to have been interrupted, if it hadn't been for the tone of finality that always laced his voice at about this time every night.

"I'm almost done," I replied, organizing files to be sent off.

"Go home, Stephanie." His voice was closer now, homier. I assumed he was standing in the entryway to my cubicle in much the same way Lester had been earlier. Probably with his arms crossed over his broad chest, scrunching his forehead in concern for the briefest of moments before smoothing it over to maintain his usual stoic character.

"I need to finish this."

"You need to take a break."

I shook my head as I clicked away at the screen in front of me, transferring everything I'd found this afternoon into a secured file.

"I took a break earlier. I'm fine."

"Take tomorrow off."

I swiveled in my chair and looked straight at him.

He was in the exact position I knew he'd be in.

"You of all people should know that work is an _excellent_ distraction from shitty circumstances."

"Do you feel insecure in your apartment by yourself? I can have a team posted in the parking lot if that makes you feel more at ease."

I scoffed. "Right. As if _I'm_ what I'm worried about." I took a moment to run my hand through my hair. "I promise that if I need a break, I'll take one. But I truly don't."

He shifted on his feet.

"Plus," I stretched my arms up over my head as I spoke, elongating my words. "When was the last time _you_ took a break?"

He shook his head and smiled a teeny, tiny smile.

"He'd kill me for letting you do this to yourself. You know that, right?"

The atmosphere changed then, my thoughts deterred from their safe avenues and began venturing towards dangerous waters. The temptation was too much, the yearning too strong. I had to ask him; I had to know.

"Have you spoken to him?"

Tank cracked his neck to the side once.

"Yes."

"How long ago?"

"Ten days," he said pointedly.

"And?" I asked.

He shrugged, which would have been a comical movement due to his bulky size if not for the somber topic.

"He's alive."

I hated that answer; there was nothing about that answer that ever offered me any kind of comfort.

_He's alive?_

I knew in the very center of my being that I would know if he wasn't alive; that I would be able to feel his absence in the marrow of my bones, through my core, in the pit of my heart. If his life ceased to continue, a part of me would die the instant he stopped existing in this world.

I would know.

I'd be able to _feel_ it.

I ran my hand through my hair in frustration. Tank's inability to hold a solidly constructed conversation was annoying me. But I knew that the feelings of annoyance I had were masking themselves atop much darker ones.

It was easier to be frustrated with Tank than to be afraid for Ranger or angry with myself.

"Did he… Has he said anything about when he'll be back?"

Tank shook his head.

We both sat there awkwardly for a few moments before Tank turned and started walking away.

I'd just swiveled back to face my computer when I heard him shout down the hallway at me. "Log out in fifteen or I'll have Hector log you out from upstairs."

"Okay!" I shouted back shrilly.

* * *

><p>The morning after he'd stayed with me at my parent's house, I'd woken up alone.<p>

Downstairs I could hear more chatter than normal, and rightfully assumed that my mother was more than happily treating my guest to an obscene amount of breakfast food.

I cleaned up and made my way downstairs, surprised that I could muster the ability to be shocked after just waking up. The scene in front of me, however, was certainly shock-worthy.

"Morning, Beautiful. Nice hair."

"What do you mean her hair looks nice? Her hair looks like little creatures could make a home in it. I heard of that before. A whole nest of pigeons in this lady's hair. And she had bees too. Or spiders and webs and all. It's a real story. Even ask Connie. I bet that could happen to Stephanie with hair all like that."

"What are you two doing here?" I asked as my mother handed me a cup of coffee. I still hadn't moved from the entry way of the dining room.

"Well you see, Lester here came over to babysit you and I'm here to see your grandma. We're goin' to get our hair done. She called me up on account of she likes my hair and thought hers would look real fine if we went to my—"

"Where's Ranger?" I interrupted, directing my question at Lester.

He swallowed the orange juice in his mouth and cleared his throat.

"He had an assignment."

"Like… an _assignment_ assignment? Like an _In the Wind_ assignment?"

He nodded.

I stood there, staring dumbly at him as if his words didn't make sense.

_Because they didn't!_

He would have told me, would have mentioned something last night.

"I'd like to talk to you in the other room, please," I said to him, truly trying to stay calm.

He stood lithely and surprisingly unquestioning. Encouraged, I turned and made my way into the living room.

"That is impolite, Stephanie!" my mother said.

"Yep!" I shouted back, sitting on the edge of the couch and setting my coffee down on the nearest end table.

"How long?"

"He doesn't know. This one's federally administered, so we don't get a lot of details."

I felt tears behind my eyes, but pushed them back. This wasn't the time.

"He'll be fine, Steph. He knows what he's doing."

"Where is he?"

Lester sighed. "He couldn't say." He paused for a second. "Why are you so upset about this? I mean, it's not like this is the first time he's—"

"He's never just _left_ me before! He's _always_ said goodbye. Why wouldn't he say goodbye? Or just tell me he was leaving? Don't I deserve that? Haven't I earned that much?"

A stretch of silence enveloped us, and Lester let me have a very brief moment of quiet thoughts.

"He's going to be okay, Stephanie. He's done this a million times."

"Why wouldn't he tell me about _this_ one? He was right here!"

I raised my head to gauge his reaction to my question, but to my surprise, there wasn't one. Lester had wiped his face clean of all emotion. He was being my friend, but only from safely behind a wall of professionalism. Something was wrong, and I knew it.

I stood and moved towards him.

"Why wouldn't he tell me about this one?"

His answer was practiced and professional, the shiny, evasive truth to replace a harsh reality he didn't want to tell me. "We are rarely informed beforehand when the mission is feder—"

"He was lying next to me and he couldn't tap me to tell me he was leaving? What kind of bullshit do you think you're feeding me?"

He stood there, staring at me. I stared back, waiting for him to speak again.

"There are certain codes—"

"Stop it!" I yelled.

His head lowered and his hands moved to clasp behind him.

I sighed, making sure my voice was calmer when I spoke again.

"Les, I am asking you as a friend—"

"And I am telling you, as a friend, Stephanie, to let that question go."

For what seemed like forever, I continued to stare at him, thinking about what I was going to do, what I could possibly say to convince him I deserved the truth.

And then I realized that it didn't matter.

One of my best friends was asking me to let it go, because he knew I didn't want to know the answer. Would not knowing eat away at me? Of course. But Lester, for all the clowning around he does, truly knows when things have gone too far. He was trying to protect my heart and mind. And for the first time in my life, I let that happen.

I nodded, not looking at him. "Okay."

"Okay?" he said in disbelief, his voice breaking over the word.

My nod was firm.

"He'll be back. I know he'll be back," I whispered.

"He'll be fine."

"He always is, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is."

* * *

><p>AN

See you soon!


	17. Seventeen Stacks

A/N

You: I miss you guys a lot when I'm not around for a while. I hope all is well with you!

Me: Finished my first summer semester strong last week with Biological Anthropology. Starting my second summer session tomorrow with a Spanish class at seven in the morning! I've got the coffee timer set for a very confident five a.m.

SS: This chapter is not a happy one. (Refer to last chapter's perpetual tissue warning.) BUT this one should be the last really emotionally tough one for the next few. If you don't think you can read it, I don't think there are a lot of important plot points in it. It's essentially getting Steph from where she is to where she needs to be next chapter, which I am personally a little bit excited to get to.

On a separate note, perhaps I'll get something out next weekend, too, in honor of the American Independance Day. If not, an early Happy Fourth, with love, from me. :)

Disclaimer: (Will be better understood after reading this chapter) Everything except the ass in this chapter belongs solely to JE. Yep, I only bear claim to the ass.

* * *

><p>I wasn't being myself; hadn't been myself for a long time. I somehow had gotten lost. I listened to my friends talk about me while I wasn't there, telling each other how obsessed I was over a man I knew couldn't handle me. I heard them voicing their unending worries and empty hopes for an emotional recovery I wasn't sure I was able to make yet. Of course, I hadn't really even considered growing up, letting go, moving on. That was giving up. Even the anguish of being constantly reminded that I wasn't quite good enough was something for me to hold on to when I really didn't have much else capable of holding me together.<p>

Admittedly, I had spent a lot of time thinking since he'd left, lost in the fog that my mind had unintentionally accumulated. I asked myself these Farris-wheel questions that left me more confused and disappointed than they ever did relieved. I'd pace around my bedroom and cry. I'd get home to my empty apartment, lock myself in the bathroom, and sulk in the bottom of the tub for an indiscernible amount of time. Sometimes, I'd crawl underneath the cold sheets lining my bed and torture myself with the same ring of thoughts that I'd traveled a million times.

I was angry.

I was confused.

I felt alone.

_He abandoned me._

I was just turning into the Rangeman parking lot on my way to work when the breaking thought, the most toxic memory pushed me right to the edge of competence, invaded my brain.

"_I'm afraid too, you know. I'm constantly afraid that you're going to just up and leave one day because that's what you think is best. And I won't even get a say in any of it."_

_I turned my head and looked at him. _

"_You can trust me to be here, at least," I said._

_He looked through me, trying to convey through telepathy what he wanted me to know…_

"_I can't give you what you need, Babe."_

I pulled quickly into a parking space, suddenly angry at the memory.

He left me.

And then he abandoned me completely without even the decency of saying goodbye.

My greatest fear was realized in that instant, despite the time that had passed, just little over a week, I had now, in this moment, realized that my greatest fear of all had come to fruition.

_Alone_.

And my regularly consistent thought process and generally predictable mental reaction was not what unveiled.

There were seconds where I waited for the tears to come, for the immobilizing despair to overtake me so fully that fine motor control was lost. I expected hysterics so extreme that I'd have to pull over abruptly and compose myself enough to drive to my parents' house and bury myself under mountains of carefully laundered quilts.

He was a constant in my life, a concrete figure, someone that I had expected to be there always, even when he couldn't be completely.

And then I lost him.

And upon losing him, I had expected to lose myself.

But for the second time in just under a minute, my expectations were confounded.

_Fuck him!_

I threw the door open, attempting to carefully balance folders under my arms, a laptop bag over my shoulder, my purse in the bend of my arm, and a napkin-wrapped jelly doughnut on top of a traveler's mug of thoroughly creamed coffee.

_How long before he left did he know he was leaving?_

_Did he know when he'd come over that he would be gone by morning?_

_Does he think about me, wherever he is?_

_What if he doesn't come back?_

_Why wouldn't he let me say goodbye?_

_How could he have stolen that opportunity from me, someone he knows loves him?_

_I love him?_

_What does that even mean?_

_Fuck him!_

Anger coursed through me, hot and reassuring.

Anger was easy.

Anger was power.

And power…

Power was the ability to not fall apart.

I reached out for the door, watching in slow motion as the thermos I'd held so closely to my body turned to the side and poured piping hot, Ranger-colored liquid down the front of my body, slipping through the thin material of my tee shirt, staining the folders I'd been holding. My jelly doughnut landed on the driver's seat as I gasped in pain, throwing my hands out to comfort my burning skin and dropping everything else save the laptop case slung over my shoulder onto the greasy asphalt. The thermos tumbled down through the air, landing with a disgusting _plop_ against the immaculate leather interior of the Porsche that cost more money than I did.

"Holy fucking… fuck! Shitting shhuh! Jesus! Sonofafuckingbitch ohmygaahd!"

Obscenities flowed freely while I gasped and floundered about against the side of the car, somehow attempting to cool my skin.

Once the sweltering pain eased I stood staring at the massacre in front of me, praying to God or who the hell ever that was supposed to be listening that I was about to wake up. I even seriously considered pinching myself, but reasoned that if the boiling coffee all over my crotch didn't wake me up, then I probably wasn't dreaming.

_Damn_.

I quickly shrugged out of my sweatshirt and used it to sop up the majority of the liquid on the seats and seeping into the carpeted floors and floor mats. Thankfully, what did reach the carpet had rested on top of it, probably due to some stain-resistant insurance that Ranger had had a mind to invest in; the contents on the leather swiped up easily.

I would still come back down from upstairs with a wet rag to re-wipe everything.

I left the door ajar, grabbed my doughnut, which I'd originally felt guilty about eating but decided I deserved at this point, and made my way to stand in front of the elevator.

I was probably ten feet away when I tripped, over absolutely nothing but thick air and a bad attitude, and landed _smack_ on the asphalt in the middle of a good sized oil spot, skidding forward slightly.

"Ahhagggh!" I yelled, listening to the noise echo.

I could feel the cool mash of doughnut along my neck and chest, and briefly debated staying on the ground and wallowing in self-pity, powdered sugar, and jelly filling, but ultimately decided that someone would eventually find me and force me to get up anyway.

I stood, wiping myself off as best I could before I noticed the hot burn in my knees, my palms, my right elbow, and the side of my face.

My arms were covered in black grease and little droplets of blood began pooling on the surface of my hands and elbow.

I fought the tears and I made the remaining few steps towards the elevator doors.

If I had any sort of luck at all, I wouldn't have had to see anyone before I'd made it up to seven to change.

But for I, Stephanie Plum, it had been a luck-less day… week…few months… a fact that was only reiterated when Lester Santos came strolling out of the door to the stairwell, looking dressed as if he were going for a run despite the drizzle of cold rain outside.

He glanced at me and muttered hello, obviously distracted on his way out as he emptied a bottle of water. He did a double-take and made an about-face as his expression contorted into one of evil joy.

"Hey, Steph."

He came over and stood directly beside me, as if he needed to go upstairs, too.

He didn't, of course. He had just come down.

"Lester," I said, not looking at him as I waited for the stupid elevator. "Forget something?"

He shook his head and ran his eyes over me, probably noticing the black smudges on my skin, the wet front of my body, and the stinging tickle of blood I could now feel trickling down the right side of my chin and mixing with remnants of my should-have-been breakfast.

"You okay?"

"I kicked the parking lot's ass with my face," I said without humor.

"You sure you won?"

"You should probably leave me alone before I tell you to fuck off, Stantos."

He whistled a long, looping note in response. "Oh? Is that right?" I could hear the smile in his voice as I stared at the elevator, willing it to move faster. "Having a bad day, Miss Plum?"

"Bad _life_."

"It's not _that_ bad."

The elevator dinged open and I stepped in, praying that he wouldn't follow me.

But of course, he did.

"You know you kind of remind me of a wet, declawed cat when you're angry."

"I'm really not in the mood today, Les."

He threw an arm over my shoulder, speaking lowly into my ear.

"He's going to come back and he's going to be just fine, just like he always is. You need to focus on what's happening around you, right here, right now, today, what you can control. Focus on you, Beautiful."

I huffed and shrugged out from under his arm. "You are way off base, Les. I don't know _why_ you think spilling coffee all over myself and falling on my stupid face would have anything to do with Ranger! That's quite a stretch, don't you think? People fall all the time! Coffee spills… all the time!"

"Like milk?" he asked, a smile playing on his face as he referenced to my spilling milk all over his kitchen floor and then crying about it… and having done so right after my last Bat-tastrophe…

"That's not even the same thing right now," I said, leaning against the side of the elevator and crossing my arms defensively.

"Right," he said sarcastically.

We reached seven and stepped out, standing awkwardly in the hallway as the elevator doors slid closed beside us.

"I think that your sour mood, frowning face, psychotic hair, and short fuse have to do with Ranger being gone. I think that you spilled coffee all over yourself because you dropped your thermos, and you tripped because sometimes people trip."

He kissed my forehead and turned towards the stairwell.

"I'll get someone to clean up the car and bring your things to your desk. Clean yourself and your attitude, and I'll let Tank know you'll be a few minutes late."

Then he disappeared into the stairwell.

* * *

><p>His apartment was exactly the same as I remembered it being.<p>

For several minutes I stood in the foyer waiting for a certain dark entity to come up behind me and wrap his arms around my waist.

Flashes of memories invaded my mind.

_Ranger sitting at the table on his laptop, looking up and granting me view of a rare smile as I walked towards him._

_Ranger perched at the edge of his couch, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Looking over at me, trying to smile and failing. Leaning backwards, resting his head on the back of the couch as I ran my fingers over his scalp_.

_Ranger looking out over Trenton through the window-wall of his living room, turning to me, raising his eyebrow at my mussed state as I walk in the door. He smiles at my huffy answer._

I moved further into the apartment, running my fingers delicately along the back of the sofa.

_Ranger donning only a towel as he carries a cup of coffee to the bedroom._

_Ranger walking from the kitchen, catching me coming out of the bedroom, shoving me against the doorframe and moving his hands to my face in a dizzying kiss._

I didn't want to go to the bedroom, but my feet kept moving there, knowing that's where I had to go. I walked through the threshold and was assaulted by more mental photographs.

_I'm lying in bed, perfectly satiated, staring at his face as he sleeps._

_I'm watching him walk through the doorway as he undresses his immaculate body. He climbs into the bed and lies beside me, kissing my shoulder before scooping me up against him._

_I'm alive; every nerve of my being is on fire. I'm crying out underneath him as he moves over me in a perfect, steady rhythm, glistening. He leans over to kiss my lips and falls away, uttering the most primal of moans into my gaping mouth._

I shook my head, dizzying the thoughts, shattering those pictures.

I move to the closet, unconsciously inhaling deeply as I enter, knowing the distinct smell of his fabrics.

I had expected to have to borrow clothing from him, maybe a pair of shorts I could tie tighter and one of his Rangeman t-shirts. But instead I spot my corner of the closet perfectly intact, as if my clothing were waiting for me to come back here, knowing all along that I wouldn't be able to stay away.

I grabbed a pair of jeans, a black tank top, and some undergarments, steeling myself as I walked back into the bedroom with my eyes firmly trained on the carpet.

I deposited my clothing on the counter and undressed before turning on the shower.

I watched the dancing of steam rise to the ceiling.

After just a few moments, I could smell it, found it attacking the entirety of my olfactory system, swarming through my nostrils and dizzying my mind with its warm, sweet odor.

_Bulgari._

It's like I was being taunted for every wonderful thing I missed about him.

It had begun with memories and feelings so profound that the energies left behind still resonated inside of me.

_And now?_

This smell, so assaulting and overwhelming in its complexities, held more weight than any series of mental polaroid's could ever provide me.

_Ranger pulling me into the alley behind the bonds office, knowing that Joe and I have broken up again, offering the support of his arms because he's supposed to. I'm crying, but I'm safe. Against his body, I'm safe._

_Bulgari._

_I tumble out of the cabinet I'd been left to die in, he grabs me, holds me tightly to him, suffocating me with his rarely expressed emotions. He thought I was dead; I thought I was dead. I am alive, and he is here._

_Bulgari._

_Shots fire. There is screaming. I know it is mine. And there is the screaming of a child. Then there is more gunfire. Yelling. I smell blood. And then beside him, as I'm tied to a chair that I have no hopes of getting out of, I catch a whiff of something heady mixed with the blood._

His place, filled with all these memories of moments… it was just a place.

But the realness of the smell, of the scent I constantly associated with the man I… with Ranger, the smell is everything of him.

My brain connected the odor immediately with Ranger, embodied in the aroma.

I panicked.

Immediately, I turned the knob on the shower, collected a bath towel, and abandoned his apartment as quickly as I could.

* * *

><p>I was not going back into that bathroom.<p>

Any apartment with a friend would be vacant, because they were all working.

And so I found myself in the most logical place my mind had mustered in a panic which, if I'm being completely honest now, wasn't appearing as logical as it had now that I was here.

The Rangeman locker room was where I stood stark naked under an oversized cream-colored towel staring at the bare backside of someone who was owner to a pair of two perfectly sculpted ass cheeks and who was completely unaware of my presence. Somewhere among the echo of walls I could hear a shower running and unlike the gym sock scents of my high school locker room, I was assaulted with the heady perfumes of masculine shower gels and aftershaves.

None of which even hinted at the heavenly toxins that drove me from the seventh floor.

At this moment, I was unable to appreciate the tiled marble floors, perfectly matching smooth stretches of tan marble walls supporting the spread of slit metal ceiling designed for ventilation. I took no note of twelve numbered cubicles, each about the size of my childhood bedroom, equipped with a section for showering separated by a half-wall of block marble from the dressing area. A single marble sink, a freestanding metal cabinet, and a rubber padded metal bench sat impeccably on top of rubberized floors in the dressing section.

But, like I said, this all went unnoticed due to aforementioned ass sighting.

Vance Vincent, a man whose face I'd only ever seen when I was lying in a hospital bed, was facing away from me, staring blankly into the mirror in front of him as he slid a razor across his gelled jaw. His short hair was wet and combed back from his face and I took note of the dark circles around his eyes, his exhausted expression. He looked haunted, heavy.

If I'd had to guess before, I would have thought he couldn't have been much older than 26 or 27. Now, though, he looked aged, weathered.

I imagined him as an old man staring at himself, worn through, very much contented with the fact that maybe he would die soon so he wouldn't have to see any more life. The lines on his face were pronounced; the lines of someone who'd experienced far more life than they should have had to at their age, maybe ever.

His movements were weary and weighted with effort. I wondered how someone so young, so apparently healthy and well-off, could have looked so old. And really, how someone who always seemed so excited, so happy about what he was doing, could turn that off and be… _this_.

"Stephanie?"

For a fraction of a second Vance met my shocked eyes, just before I whipped around to face the voice, only to see a very surprised Tank standing in front of me. His chest was broad and bare, thick with hard muscle and glossy with sweat. There were three angry imperfections marring his skin, two on his right shoulder and one on the left, all apparent impressions of a bullet. Black basketball shorts with "Rangeman" embroidered along the left bottom seam hung low and enticing on his v-carved hips.

Tank was solid, thick, stacked muscle. He bore the body of a man any woman would be able to appreciate.

And despite the emotional whiplash of the last half-hour, I _was_ appreciating….

"Steph!" he repeated more forcefully, knocking me out of my trance.

I decided quickly that "Confident" Stephanie would be the current spokesperson for "Scared-as-shit-Tank's-going-to-kick-my-lily-ass" Stephanie.

"Tank."

He held a black, sweat-drenched tee shirt in his right hand and a freshly folded towel in his left. His eyes were fixated pointedly on my face, not daring anywhere near the towel clutched at my chest.

He raised an eyebrow which I took as a "Why the hell are you in here?" expression.

"I'm… showering?"

I heard a chuckle from behind me.

"What happened? Are you injured?" he asked, probably taking note of the blood drying on my face and arms.

I ignored that question and hoped to steer the conversation away from myself.

"Why are you even in here? Don't you live upstairs?"

Tank shot a look over my shoulder before looking back to my face and re-raising his left brow.

"I'm attempting to be social with my colleagues. Why are you in here?"

I squared my shoulders. "I was under the impression that all Rangeman employees were entitled to locker room privileges. I have the same rights as any other employee here."

"Both floors seven and four would allow for more privacy," his face remained an impenetrable wall of stoicism.

Just then the door behind Tank swung open, sending in laughter that quickly dissipated at the sight of me in a towel. Bobby entered first but stopped short, sending Hal knocking into his back, and Cal into Hal. If it had been Lula, Connie, and I, we would have ended up on the ground like Dominoes. They all shuffled to maintain their balance, eyes not diverting from mostly naked me.

"Out," Tank ordered without turning to see who it was.

"Bobby?"

"Hey, Steph," he replied, giving me a small wave, eyes still wide and searching for somewhere else to look.

"Out!" Tank repeated.

Either out of respect for orders from Tank or out of fear of Ranger for having stumbled in on me without clothing, several quick shoves left Tank and I alone again… well, Vance was there, too, I guess.

Somewhere in the background I registered a shower being shut off.

"I feel like there is some gender discrimination going on here. I'll have you know that as a woman I have the same rights as any man does to the benefits offered by my employment here. Isn't Rangeman an equal opportunity employer?"

Tank sighed and ran his hand over his bald head.

"I can't shower in here because I have breasts!"

I heard a bark of laughter from behind me and turned my head in its direction.

"They _are_ top-notch breasts, aren't they? A man doesn't stumble upon a set of-"

"Santos," Tank growled in warning.

I turned my whole body towards Lester who was walking towards Tank and I, grinning.

"I rinsed your mats off. They're hanging on the half-wall in cube four."

"Thanks," I said, feeling guilty for having been short with him earlier.

He winked at me, probably guessing where my mind was.

"Don't worry about it."

Tank cleared his throat, reminding me that I was standing in a towel, which I immediately clenched tighter.

"Do _you_ mind that I'm in here?" I asked Lester.

He shook his head, smiling.

"Nope. Not quite sure why you'd choose to come here though. If you're looking for a more up-close-and-personal experience of the male anatomy, I believe Tankman here has already referred you to my very private fourth floor apartment."

With that and a wink, he slid past Tank and I and out the door.

"Get out, Vincent," Tank commanded sternly.

Vance was already dressed at this point, keeping his head low as he exited out the other end of the locker room.

Tank spoke to me as soon as the door shut behind Vance. "When you are finished, you will be seen in the control room, and men will be instructed allowance back into these facilities. You are free to use stalls two or six. Come to Conference B when you are finished. Ella will bring you clothing."

Tank turned abruptly and stalked back into the gym.

* * *

><p>AN

So much love for you people. Stay tuned next chapter for the re-emergence of someone Stephanie needs to see to help pull her out of her Ranger Blues. Have a great week. :)


	18. Eighteen Elements

A/N:

Le sigh.

I meant to get this out earlier, but things got in the way. I'm waiting for some calmness. It'll happen someday. Has to in order to maintain life's balance, right?

Whatevs.

I noticed, after trolling my own story the other day, that all those mistakes I spend hours hammering out of my chapters through some extensive self-editing just end up popping up in small, silly places. I notice them now. Dumb things. Little typos, missing the big-ass line* in the middle of the story that's supposed to signify passage of time, not having pressed the "enter" key when I had meant to. Things like that. If I had any less to worry about in real life, I would go back and meticulously fix every single error.

But for my sanity and for the best possible outcome on my test tomorrow, let's pretend I did that and go on with our jolly lives.

Unless you're a habitual crier, probably no "tissue warning" this time around.

Disclaimer: I almost kind of own 50% of all dialogued characters in this chapter. Isn't that cool? Yeah, I didn't think so either. ;)

* * *

><p>^*big-ass line<p>

* * *

><p>After not much mental weighing of options, I decided to poke around the metal cabinet in cubical two, which I found was already readily equipped with expensive-looking, gender-neutral shampoo, an unopened assortment of men's razors and shaving gel, liquid shower gel that was supposed to smell like the ocean, but sort of smelled like salted peaches, two unopened sets for oral care, a packaged set of combs, and other hygienic tools for men, like spray-on deodorant and… baby oil?<p>

Even the shower stalls at Rangeman were thoroughly prepared for anything…

_Like… babies?_

I had collected essentials for a shower and deposited them atop the half-wall, knowing that I'd have to listen closely for Ella to come in so that she didn't walk in on naked me.

Several minutes later, I heard my name called by a familiar feminine voice, in a language that was not wholly English.

"Estefania! You are in here Estefania?"

I screeched and ducked down behind the half wall, caught off guard.

"I'm in two!" I yelled, poking my head up so she would only be able to see that much of me.

She turned the corner then and deposited what appeared to be the same stack of clothing that I'd left in the bathroom in Ranger's penthouse onto the rubber bench against the wall.

"What a strange way for to take a shower," she said, smiling at me broadly and watching me curiously in a way that could only be developed in another country.

Her hair was down, long and flowing over her shoulders and back in dark, perfect waves, and she wore purple hospital scrubs and white tennis shoes.

"Hi, Esmeralda," I said, lifting a hand to wave while the rest of me, besides my eyes, crouched down below the half-wall.

"I will turn around and we will talk. I am curious about how you are." At that she swung around and continued talking. "How are you?"

I stood tentatively and stared at her back as I began to resume rinsing my hair.

"I'm fine. How have you been?"

I felt the words slip from my mouth; I could taste the sting of lie upon them, and nearly regretted being so passive about her question. It was like lying to someone you knew was aware of the true answer before you said anything, and they'd only asked to give you the opportunity to begin a conversation honestly.

It was like lying to Jesus while he's making you some 2,000-year-old wine out of Jersey smog.

Or worse.

Like lying to my mother while she asks me questions about my love life over pineapple upside-down cake.

I started scrubbing my skin harder, trying to exfoliate away the sudden seeping of Catholic guilt through my pores.

"Oh, I am good. I am good. I am busy, but I am good." Her arms flew out as she spoke with great, grand gestures that moved the room. "How are you and your Ranger?"

I chuckled humorlessly and shut the water off, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around myself as I stepped onto the rubber-padded flooring.

"He's alive," I muttered to myself. I raised my voice to answer her question more politely. "He's fine as far as I know; off on an assignment somewhere."

I moved into her view and sat onto the rubber bench next to my clothing, leaning against the wall for support.

She faced me, serious now.

"My sister tells me that you are sick for him. That you mourn him as if he is lost to you."

I shook my head and was ready to deny it all, prepared to relay the same story I'd been feeding everyone else, including myself, for weeks:

_I'm fine._

_He's fine._

_His absence doesn't really matter—we aren't together anyway._

_He's just my boss, away on business._

_I'm not mad, or angry, or hurt._

_I'm fine._

I sighed and looked her straight in the eye.

"I miss him."

I heard the words and couldn't believe they'd come from my mouth; it was a statement I hadn't allowed myself to hear since he'd left.

Admitting I missed him was admitting I cared, and revealing that I cared allowed the potential for me to be broken by this.

_I was broken by it._

"You should miss him. Half of you is away. He will return." With that she moved towards the shower to begin cleaning up the things I'd left in there.

"I can get th—"

"Hush. You talk to me and tell me your problems. We are friends."

As if that explained why she should be cleaning up after me…

But truly, I knew better than to argue with this woman.

I could handle my mother; I could handle Lula.

I was not even going to pretend I could handle arguing with Esmeralda.

So, I started spilling my soul all over the floor, watching it mix together with the droplets of water my feet had left behind on the rubber.

I told her everything that had happened in my life since I'd broken up with Morelli.

_Sickness._

_Explosions._

_Notes._

_Roses._

_Fire._

_Photos._

_Stalker._

_Ranger._

_Break-up._

_Ranger._

_Break-down._

_Ranger._

_Abandoned._

She pittered around, putting things away, squeegeeing the shower and the floor. And then she stopped, sat cross-legged on the ground in front of me, just as a child hearing a fairy tale would have, and she listened.

Finally I sighed, having purged every remote insecurity I harbored to this small, strong woman, who I was so comfortable with despite hardly having known her.

"I'm a mess, and I don't know how to deal with any of it," I said, signaling that I was finished talking.

She took a deep breath.

"I have things to say, and you will not like all of them, but they are all true."

I nodded, urging her to continue.

"Your Ranger is a good man. You know this."

I nodded, though it hadn't been a question. He _was_ a good man, there was no disagreeing with that, no matter how much he'd hurt me.

"Sometimes, when a man does something that is hard to do, but with light in his heart, there is darkness. And he cannot see it, for he have the light within him, guiding him, yes?"

I shook my head; I had no idea what she was talking about. I just kept picturing a light bulb where Ranger's heart would go.

"Estefania," she sighed. "Men can be blinded by their good intentions and create a darkness without wanting to make a darkness, when they only wanted for there to be lightness."

I nodded.

"When your Ranger may see beyond his intentions, see this darkness he created with good lightness, he will see his actions. He will regret. And then he will know."

"Here's the thing," I said, checking my tone so I didn't sound disrespectful, though I wanted her to understand the full weight of my words. "He's a good man. But he is so cold sometimes, so hurtful. I feel like he's been playing this push-pull game, where he brings me towards him, makes me feel all of this security, and then shoves me away and rips apart everything I'd felt so okay with. And I went and spilled my heart to him, gave him all these opportunities to… talk to me, to open up. And then he ended everything right where it was." She inhaled to speak, but I continued on. "I'm pissed off at him. I'd like to slap him in the face and ask him why he's being this way, what I did to fuck us up."

"Being angry is much easier than feeling like you will break into pieces, Estefania."

I felt tears pool in my eyes and didn't entirely understand them.

"Everybody, they break into pieces."

"What if he dies this time?" I nearly shouted, feeling a tear channel down my cheek. "What if he never comes back and this is it? What if he is on some mission saving baby chimpanzees and all of the sudden some bad guy comes out of the bushes and _bam_, he's shot, lying in the middle of the forest dying, thinking that I'm going to be angry at him forever? He'd never know—"

Tears choked me and I began to sob, hating the fact that I was crying.

"Ranger does know that you love him, Estefania. He knows, just as you know of his love for you, even if he struggles to say it. Do you not struggle with words, too?"

I didn't answer her question; I took a deep breath and clarified, shaking my head.

"That's why everything, totally aside from him being gone, has been so frustrating. And even though he has never really outright said so, I do know he loves me, too. I just… _know_, I guess. But, I…," I raised my head to look at her calm, comforting expression, "if he never came home, I would never get to tell him that even though he's absolutely frustrating, and imperfect, and he doesn't want me, or if he hates me, I'm still okay with that."

"I am not understanding. You say he is cold to you. He is not careful with your heart. And then you are mad. And now you are sad."

I looked down at my hands.

"I have been asking Ranger, my best friend for so many years, I, someone who probably knows him better than anyone else in the world…" I scoffed at this, because now that I was saying it, everything that had happened was finally starting to annoy me not because of how he'd been acting, but because of what I'd been doing all along; I had never even considered that I was a significant part of the problem. "I wanted him to pick me up from my relationship with Joe, tell me he loves me, sweep me off my feet, marry me, and live happily ever after." My next words were whispered; they were powerful enough to not need the volume. "Somewhere, in the middle of that idea, I'd forgotten who the hell I'd fallen in love with."

_Epiphany one: I've been such a fucking fool._

I had been upset with this man, who I cared for deeply, because I'd had expectations for him to be someone he wasn't.

I rose my head to look at her again.

"What have I been _doing_?" I asked her, more rhetorically than not.

She answered anyway with an inappropriately broad smile.

"You were blinded by good intention, too."

"You know, I have been doing the exact same thing to him that my last boyfriend tried to do with me."

"You want Ranger to be like a husband, and Ranger is not a husband."

I nodded and chuckled a little bit.

"Basically! He didn't even have a chance to get used to the idea of both of us maintaining the same relationship we've always had, but without someone else in the picture. I have been trying to make him become something he doesn't even understand."

I took a deep breath, leaning back against the wall behind me and looking to the ceiling.

"You are still troubled," she said.

I sighed.

"Just because I've been an idiot doesn't negate the fact that he's been the way he has. He started pushing me away and treating me as if I didn't matter to him. He's just… he's been terrible, too."

"What of that matters today?"

I looked down at her blankly.

"_What_?"

She smiled.

"You are an idiot. He is an idiot. What of your idiot behaviors matters today, while he is away at war for you?"

"It's not exactly _war_ or _for_ me. And well, we're kind of still in the same boat we've been—"

"You are not. It is a different time, now. You are the same people, and the same feelings, but are not of the same circumstances. And if not for you, who do you think this man goes to war for? It is always war if a soldier is called to fight."

"It's not really black and white like that. He's been doing this all his life."

"Times have changed for him. He is not the same as he has been all his life."

"Well, _he_ might not be, but that doesn't really change where _we_ are."

She threw her hands up.

"If one changes, does not the other one?"

"One person? I cannot control what he does."

She sighed.

"You are like a moth and a flame. You will kill each other with your gravities if you do not take notice of them."

"So, Ranger gets to be the fire?"

She shook her head.

"Works both ways. Things change. One cannot always be the flame."

I thought about that for a moment, but decided to tuck it away rather than sit and mull over it. It hadn't been a day for deep reflection quite yet.

"I don't like change."

"It happens always."

"Yeah, I guess."

"So, why would you act the same, if things are not?"

"Nothing is fixed! He's still a selfish jerk and I'm... He's not even here!"

_Oh…_

"Exactly," she said, nodding. "Nothing new is done. You are letting these poisonous feelings over the past make your thoughts toxic."

I lifted my hands to run through my hair, which had begun to dry and was starting to tangle.

I leaned forward towards her face; she continued to watch me, immobile.

"What am I supposed to do, then? Forget what he's done? How he's made me feel? He left me alone when I had no one. He abandoned me for a mission in some god forsaken country without saying a thing."

"You are hurt."

"I _am_ hurt. I am hurt and worried and angry!"

She cocked her head to the side and stood, moving towards the marble counter top where I'd placed a comb. When she returned, she moved beside me to brush my hair. I didn't object.

"Without harboring these angers and these sadnesses inside of you, do you believe that his feelings, being so far away from you, change? You only punish yourself."

_Second epiphany of the last five minutes: all of these negative emotions aren't affecting anyone but me._

I had made myself ill trying to feel everything but what his absence actually made me feel—it made me love him more, and miss him terribly, and worry that he wouldn't come home. Those were hard thoughts to bear. Anger was simple, explainable. So was hurt, and sadness. But emptiness? How do you explain to someone, even yourself, that there's a hole inside of you which cannot be filled by anything other than the presence of someone else?

I nodded in a final understanding.

"Wow," I said, smiling slightly. "You think you were a psychologist in a past life?"

She laughed from behind me, still running the comb through my tangling hair.

"I am just showing you what you already see."

Based on her abstract explanations of things, maybe she'd been a philosopher in a past life.

"So, now that you see, Miss Estefania, what changes?"

"Everything?"

She nodded vigorously.

"You are trying to a moth without the flame, Estefania. Things have changed. He tried for lightness for you, but left you for the darkness, yes?"

"So… I have to be the fire now."

"Yes, yes. You are now having to be the fire!"

* * *

><p>AN

Did you miss Esmeralda, too? She's wicked cool. Sometimes I wonder what kind of person I would have been if she'd been my mom or something. Then I get distracted and charge beautiful shoes and fancy underwear to my morbidly obese credit card.

BE THE FIRE, LADIES! I'll be back! :)


	19. Nineteen Minutes

A/N:

Lo siento! Lo siento! I'm so sorry for being gone for so long. I wish I could purge every crazy thing that's been going on in my life, but that would be silly. Instead, I hope that you'll accept my absence, forgive me, read this chapter, stay with me for the rest of them, and love me anyways.

I know you miss Ranger. I miss him, too. He'll be back eventually, though... I'm pretty sure.

I hope something in this one makes you laugh. It's supposed to.

Don't hate me, okay? I have my Spanish final next week, and PTK projects to start planning, and NSO meetings, and going to the Keys for business... no, really. I'm going to the Keys ON legit business. I'm not a good traveler but seriously... it's THE KEYS. Certainly making a stop at Hemingway's house and the southern most part of the US, "90 miles from Cuba." I have a feeling I'll be thinking about one of my favorite fictional Cubans at that moment.

And I know I haven't gotten back to the last few comments, even though they were absolutely loved and... and loved. Yep. I'm really sorry. I might even be more sorry than I should. But that's how I roll.

I love you guys, and hope I'm not losing readers because real life has been... It's been real, folks. Psh.

Disclaimer: "Roses are red. Violets are blue. Sugar is sweet. I would do wonderfully terrible things to Ranger if he were _my precious_."?*

*Saw The Hobbit trailer. Still reeling. :p

* * *

><p>Everything changed.<p>

After talking to Esmeralda, I changed my entire game.

I'd decided to start living my life again, not through the anger which had been fueling me for weeks, but through the absence of someone I loved and missed, in a much healthier way. I would worry still, because how could I not? But I wouldn't let it consume me. I would carry it with me and make myself proud; I'd make him proud of me. I chose to start being myself, and to be contented by the fact that the Ranger I'd fallen for so long ago was the one I wanted, not the shiny, pristine version of him I'd painted in my mind, the one whose actions were understood and whose intentions were clear.

In effect, I decided that understanding everything about what he did and who he was didn't have to control how I felt about him.

We were due for a long talk and some clarifications, but until then, I was going to live without him beside me, but still as an innate part of me.

And it _worked_.

I was flourishing in my work. I had been happier. I started seeing my family and friends again, whom I had been absent from for weeks.

And with Lula's extreme approval I ate fried chicken, and donuts, and pizza again.

But… to counter-act the dirty calories, I started… I started working out… in the _mornings_… with _Hector_.

The first morning I'd entered the gym and all regular activity came to a screeching halt as a dozen pairs of eyes fixated on my foreign presence. I nearly turned and walked right back into the elevator; the room fixated on me as if this had all surely been some happy mistake.

I, Stephanie Plum, purposefully, without provocation, was walking into a gym at 6:00 in the morning?

Their eyes were surely playing tricks.

Before I could about-face and stumble my way back onto the elevator, a strong hand clasped my shoulder.

I looked up at him, wondering what kind of reaction my presence in the gym would elicit from him. I was second-guessing the entire decision.

To my surprise he chuckled, probably at my wary expression.

I slumped.

"I really hate exercise," I admitted.

"Good," Hector nodded as sweat dripped down his smiling face.

"How is doing something you hate a good thing?"

"Yes," he replied, turning away from me and heading towards some massive, foreign exercise machine I was sure had been designed to snap people like me in half.

But I followed him anyway, because I felt as if that's what he wanted me to do.

And I had been every morning since.

* * *

><p>"How come your face still looks like you rubbed it with sandpaper? It's been two weeks. I thought white people healed faster than us beautiful-colored chocolate ones. Don't you heal real fast, Connie? And Connie's Italian, too. Maybe it's that Jewish side of you that makes you—"<p>

"Hungarian," I corrected.

"Whatever. Jewish and Hungarian. My point is that your face is still all scratchy. You pickin' at it? You shouldn't be pickin' at it. That'll make it open up again and you could bleed to death."

"I'm not going to bleed to death, Lula."

"How do you know? You think Albert Einstein thought he was going to bleed to death when he sawed off his ears? I even knew this one stripper from Moon Blue, we called her Trampy Cherie—"

"I'm not going to bleed to death!"

"I don't think Einstein cut off his ears," Connie mumbled.

"And then she got real rashy-like in her lady area, you know, all scabies-like—"

"Shut up!" Vinnie interrupted from his office, through the door.

Connie stood up, turned around, and flung his door open.

"Did you wire my desk again, you infectious rat!"

"I could fire you for that!"

"You won't," I muttered.

"You people just don't appreciate good story-tellin'. It's like your mamas never told you any good stories and you don't even know what they are. When I was a child, my mama always told me good stories. You're all just jealous from the—"

"I don't need to wire your desk! I could install sound-proof walls and I'd still be able to hear _her_!"

"Who you callin' "_her_"? I'll have you know I will not be toleratin' of any gender discriminatory in this dump-hole. You don't pay me enough for gender discriminatory."

"I'm leaving!" I announced.

"You didn't even hear the rest of the Cherie story! And you never answered my question! And the donuts aren't gone yet! You gonna make me eat all of 'em? I could, but I don't know why you'd up and leave before the donuts were even gone. It's like you're abandoning them."

"Her face is still fading, Lula. She could probably cover it up with make-up if she wanted to, but won't have to in a couple more weeks," Connie said lightly, still glaring at Vinnie. "They're just light scars."

"It's all scarred like Two-Face from Batman. It'll be like that for years. And I think it gets worse when you have kids or something like that," Vinnie interjected.

"Look at you! Already scoping out the un-born Morelli child before it even has a chance to pop out," Lula shook her head. "Speakin' of scarred, only one here scarred is me from all of this gender discriminatory. I could probably sue you and never have to work again."

"You do realize that if Stephanie _were_ pregnant—"

"Oh, my God! I'm not pregnant!"

"I _know_," Vinnie sneered. "I'm explaining that you'd be in your fifth semester or something and would be a lot fatter."

Connie plopped back down in her seat, leaving Vinnie's office door open, and began filing her nails.

"You're a fool! Takes longer than that for babies to grow! Years even, if they're gonna be beautiful! And if it's a Morelli baby, you _bet_ it's gonna be beautiful."

"I'm _actually_ leaving this time, and I'm still not pregnant with Morelli's love-child."

The room got really silent and everyone stared at me.

"What?"

"It's not Morelli's baby?"

Connie looked up from her nails at Lula and just kept staring at her, trying to read her mind.

"Does that mean it's Ranger's?" Vinnie asked, looking frantically between the three of us.

"What?" I shrieked. "_That_ is what you got from what I just said? How about the "I'm not pregnant" part? Did you miss _that_?"

"All I'm sayin' is that you can't get pregnant by yourself," Lula said, throwing her arms in the air. "You're the one sayin' it's not Morelli's."

"Lula, she would have already had a baby at this point," Connie said, scrunching her face up.

"How do you know? I mean, if it takes five semesters to develop a Morelli baby, think about how long it would take for a Man of Mystery baby!"

"She's got a point," Vinnie said.

I looked at Connie, who shook her head, as unbelieving as I was, and nodded for me to leave.

* * *

><p>"No. Absolutely not," I said to Lester as he sat across from me in the break room, demolishing an entire head of celery, rib by rib.<p>

I'd been spending my break with a jar of peanut butter and an apple when he approached me tentatively, asking for help.

Under any other circumstance, I probably would have agreed. But as soon as he'd asked, an entire slew of worst-case-scenarios flooded my mind.

_It wasn't happening._

"Please, Steph!"

I shook my head back and forth, concentrating on the stitching of my jeans.

"Who else am I supposed to ask?"

"Yeah, _that_ makes me want to go," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. "You know every woman in New Jersey. You're trying to tell me none of them will go with you?"

He leaned forward on the table.

"Just because I know them, doesn't mean they ever want to see me again." He accentuated this statement with a wave of his celery stick.

I stared at him squarely.

"I've burned a lot of bridges in New Jersey!" he whined.

"That's not my fault! Why do I have to be punished for _your_ mistakes?"

He bit into a stalk and chewed it loudly.

"This is hardly _punishment_."

"For you! You'll get laid by the end of the night and I'm going to have to suffer through the awkwardness of a fashion competition with my arch nemesis!"

"You seriously cannot dislike her that much after meeting with her once."

Okay, so Elizabeth wasn't all that bad. In fact, if she didn't speak or chose to think about what she said before she did, we would probably get along swimmingly. She was nice in that "I'm really dumb and don't know how to behave in social situations" kind of way.

"I don't dislike her. Fact: She's going to out-dress me and it's going to feel like a date."

"No! I already made it really clear that it's not a date. We agreed that it was strictly a friend-friend situation."

"You already said I would go? What is _wrong_ with you?"

He smiled evilly.

"Well, if I had waited to ask you first, you wouldn't have gone."

"I'm still not going!"

"You have to go."

I uncrossed my legs and crossed my arms instead.

"Oh? And why do you think that?"

"Because according to me, you already said you would. At this point, you'd be cancelling on him."

I grunted loudly out of anger, causing the entire table behind Lester to turn and look at me.

"Fine! But you owe me, now. _Big time_."

He leaned back in his chair proudly and lifted his hands to rest behind his head.

"I can think of a few ways to repay you."

I shoved away from the table and stormed back to my desk.

"_I have a favor to ask," he'd said._

"_I'm not going to mass reproduce with you," I answered, chewing my apple carefully._

_He smiled broadly, enjoying my dry humor._

"_Are you sure?"_

_I didn't answer._

"_Since you turned that one down, can I beg another?"_

"_Beg away," I told him, waving my hand for him to continue._

"_Liz has a benefit coming up and—"_

"_A benefit for what?"_

_He shrugged._

"_I wasn't listening about that part. But anyway, she mentioned that Dillon wasn't going to go because he thought it would be weird if it was just the three of us—"_

"_Not happening."_

"_She was hoping that since you knew him already, you might just tag along—"_

"_Not tagging along."_

"_It's for the children! You won't even tag along for the children?"_

"_What children? You just said you didn't know what it was for!"_

"_Well… what if it was for children?"_

"_Firstly, it would be weird for me to go with Dillon—"_

"_What if you were going with me? That wouldn't be weird. It's just two friends going together. Same thing."_

"You_ understand that I'm not entirely available. Which brings me to my second point: I'm not entirely available."_

"_Ranger wouldn't—"_

"_This has nothing to do with Ranger. This has to do with me. I'm not available."_

"_Please, Steph!"_

"_No. Absolutely not."_

Did I actually have a good, solid reason for not wanting to go? Not really.

The fact was I wouldn't have minded getting dressed up in the name of charity. And I had seen Dillon around the building and all, but we hadn't done one of our beer and pizza nights because a) I hadn't had the time to and b) if I needed a handy man, my Rangemen usually figured it out through their surveillance footage even before I knew there was a problem; I hadn't owed him anything lately. We could probably use the time to catch up.

But there was a part of me, something right in the center of my body that really didn't want to go.

* * *

><p>"Tracee Faylor you are in violation of your bond agreement with Vincent Plum Bail Bonds—"<p>

"You don't have to handcuff me, do you?"

I was a little off-put at not being able to finish my regular spiel and was wondering why Tracee Faylor, who was a 37-year-old, six-foot-six, 325 pound black man who'd been charged with aggravated assault on his brother, Martin Faylor, a similarly robust man, was concerned about the possibility that I was going to throw some metal bracelets on his wrists.

"Uhm… not if you promise to come with me so I can get you re-bonded," I answered, my eyes dodging back and forth a moment.

He looked shyly at the ground and rubbed his shaved head.

"Can I tell my grandmamma I'm leavin'? She'll get worried otherwise."

"Sure."

He started to turn around but then stopped and faced me again.

"You got them big fellas with you?"

I hesitated.

_Of course there were Merry Men with me. Why would he need to know that?_

"They scare me a little. They're always cuffin' people and speakin' harshly," he sighed. "I don't like the harsh speakin'."

I tried not to smile at that.

"I won't let them cuff you," I promised.

He kept staring at me warily.

"Or… speak harshly," I added.

He smiled at that and went inside, leaving the door just slightly ajar.

"Did you just let him back inside?" Lester whispered from around the corner of the small house.

"Oh, be quiet. He went to tell his grandmother he was leaving."

"Didn't you read your file? He lives with his sister."

I crossed my arms, not admitting I'd made a mistake.

"Have a little faith in people, Les."

He scoffed.

"Well, I suppose if he tries to go out the back then Hal will finally have something _fun_ to do!" I whispered harshly.

We both stood in our positions waiting less-than-patiently for something to happen.

Lester finally rounded the corner.

"I'm going in to get him," he said, just as the door swung open and Tracee stepped through the doorway, locking the deadbolt behind him.

"Sorry," he expressed. "My grandmamma has been staying here sick. She needed her medications before I left. Can't leave her without those medications."

I looked at Lester and grinned largely.

"C'mon, Hal!" Lester yelled towards the back of the house.

* * *

><p>"It's people like that that make me feel okay about my job," I said, scooting to the middle of the backseat of the SUV Hal was driving away from the police station. "Like, maybe the system works, or something."<p>

"People that beat the shit out of their brother to within an inch of his life make you feel good about your job? Me, too. Makes me all fuzzy inside. "

Hal chuckled.

"Whatever, Les. He was perfectly polite."

Lester nodded and then held up a finger.

"Mhm. Just except that one time, right?"

"Take me home. I'm done with you two."

"What did I do?" Hal asked, which was probably the first thing he'd said all day.

"You laughed!"

"Aw. You still bummed you have nothing to wear to the ball this weekend, Cinderella?" Lester grinned.

"That was a stupid reference and it wasn't funny."

"_I_ think I'm funny."

"Nobody else does."

"Hal does."

"No, I don't."

"Don't be afraid of her, Hal. She's tame. Like a little declawed kitten."

I smacked him in the back of the head.

"Ow! What the hell?"

"_Meow, _asshole_."_

* * *

><p>I drug my body up the stairs, thinking solely of the relief my bed would offer me when I assaulted it with my filthy, day-ridden body.<p>

When I got to my door there was a package leaning against it with a note from Dillon attached to the front.

_This arrived for you today in the office. I signed for it. _

_See you Saturday,_

_-Dillon_

I sighed loudly, remembering Elizabeth's benefit, which I found out was actually a showing and raffling off of artwork that she'd done herself, which eased some of my anxieties about going.

I walked inside and dumped the box, my bag, and my keys on the kitchen counter, debating whether or not I wanted to eat anything.

Ultimately, I ended up munching on a cold leg of fried chicken as I slit the package tape with my house key.

I bent back the top flaps and froze.

_I froze._

I couldn't have moved if I wanted to.

My stomach was being violently teased as the intoxicating smell hit my nose and assaulted my sinuses, watering my eyes.

_So much red._

I turned my head and purged into the sink.

* * *

><p>AN

Worth the wait? Really hope I didn't disappoint this time around. This one was written... quickly. :)

I'll be back as soon as I can! I promise I'm not going away!


	20. TwentyTwenty

A/N:

A couple things:

Before I get into my update, I must mention that I feel as if I have been slightly disrespected lately. Though I had a whole rebuttal written out, which I'd planned to publically display, I opted for the higher road since that also seems to be the road less traveled. I will, however, say that if you do not enjoy my story, my portrayal of JE's characters, or the depiction of the characters that I have created, no one is forcing you to read. I have no issue with constructive criticisms; I wholly welcome what I can use to better my writing skills. But blatant disrespect for the things I've listed or for my writing style is absolutely not appropriate, especially if you've made it to Chapter Twenty. These words, apparently misguided as they were, were still a hit to my confidence as a writer, which I do believe inhibited my composition of this chapter.

In the end, I love and genuinely appreciate every single praise I've been given on this forum, each morsel of opinion, the following of every quiet reader. But, I started writing this story because I wanted to tell it. Not to an audience, though that decision was made later. I started writing because I wanted to. I do not write to please all of my readers; that's impossible. I compose every word with careful thought and precision to please my characters.

That having all been said, I really missed you all. And I can't promise to post a chapter every week- it's not realistic for this time in my life. I can promise that I will finish this story, and that I will remain as true to my characters as I can, regardless of nay-sayers.

I love you guys.

I aced Spanish.

The Keys is a really great place to go. (I even went parasailing!) Not some evil innuendo to the person that recently died in a parasailing accident. I really went.

Went back to school full term for the fall. I've been in "break-down" mode all week. It's like I'm preparing to have a break-down, but I haven't had one yet. Something really stupid is going to push me over the edge and I'm going to fall into a hysterical heap of sobbing author. But then I'll pick myself up and get on next week's schedule. (You know what'll probably do me over? Those stupid Sarah McLachlan commercials. Fuck that.)

I hope all of your lives are going well! I'll see you again soon! :)

Disclaimer: Everything you're about to read is stuff I wrote about some stuff somebody else wrote.

* * *

><p>Violent nausea attacked me a second time, sending me into dry convulsions.<p>

Black spots blurred my vision.

Anyone else would have blushed with excitement, smiled giddily, felt a torrent of internal butterflies tickling their stomach.

My stomach was being teased by something far from butterflies; fear bubbled up in the core of my gut, watering my eyes.

I don't know why exactly, but my mind began to reel with a primary line of children's poetry, playing repetitively on a haunting circuit in my brain.

_Roses are red._

_Roses are red._

_Roses are red._

I stood up straight, tossing a wavering glance at the box again.

Red rose petals.

_Hundreds_ of red rose petals.

"_No_," I whispered in disbelief, shaking my head, attempting to shake away the situation.

_This isn't supposed to be happening. _

_This is over._

I became dizzy with the idea of what I knew I had to do.

_There were rose petals, and roses are always accompanied by…_

I dumped the box in the sink frantically, refusing to lay hand to the blood-red petals.

And there it was, just like I knew it would be, nestled atop the bed of roses.

The note.

I snatched it up and unfolded it, unable to delay knowing what it said.

_My Stephanie,_

_I'm so sorry for the losses which accompanied the explosion in your unit. I truly wish that could have been prevented. _

_Please, keep our communications more private. Terrible things are better prevented that way._

_Do not drive yourself to work in the morning._

_All my love—_

Wait.

What?

"Do not drive yourself to work in the morning," I read quietly aloud.

_He's going to blow up my car again._

_He's going to blow up my car again._

_He's… warning me that he's going to blow up my car again?_

With trembling hands I dug in my pocket for my phone, just as it began to ring.

"We'll be there in seven minutes," Lester said as soon as the call connected.

I heard the revving of an engine in the background.

"Six minutes" I heard someone further away from the receiver say.

I nodded at the phone, unaware for a moment that they couldn't see me; they were far from the Rangeman monitors feeding my status live to a room of quick-acting Merry Men.

"Stephanie?"

"It's okay if it's in seven. I'll be okay even if it's seven."

I nodded my head again, this time for my own affirmation of safety.

I was going to be fine.

They were on their way.

It was the same stuff as before.

I was going to be fine.

"Five," he said just before he disconnected the line.

* * *

><p>"You need to sit down," Bobby said.<p>

I shook my head, briefly flashing a glare at the couch.

"I don't want to sit down. I want to stand."

"You're pacing like a caged animal."

Lester walked into the living room from the hallway.

"We had UPS here at 2:00. Dillon signed for the package and brought it directly to your door."

"So we have nothing," I said, moving my eyes around the room quickly, processing.

"We'll send the contents of the box to…"

Lester was talking, but my mind was too busy to listen.

"He rigged my car, again," I said, interrupting, still pacing.

"What?" Lester asked.

Bobby's phone vibrated against his pocket.

"_Why would he rig my car and then tell me about it_?"

"Tank's on his way," Bobby announced, shutting his phone.

"_Doesn't make any sense…_"

"Will you stop pacing? Please?!"

"_There's something missing…_"

"Stephanie!"

"Hey, Steph?"

"_What are we missing?_"

"Hey!"

"Les, I don't know if you're gonna want to…"

"He s_till plants bombs, wants me alive, but knows I'm the only one who would regularly drive my car. There's_…"

Hands grasped my shoulders and Lester shook me.

"Hey! Stop."

I tore myself away from him and moved so that the wall was behind me, like prey, trapped, on the defense.

"I am fine!" I growled, shoving him back away from me again as he moved closer to me.

"I didn't say anything about you being fine, but you surely aren't acting like you are."

"Oh? And how is _that_?!"

"Stop zoning off and pacing. Be present. We need you to be present."

"There's nothing wrong with walking. Walking is healthy for you! Maybe I'm just trying to be really healthy!"

"You need to relax or you're going to make yourself sick. We've got this, okay? Everything is…"

"No, _Lester_, not "okay". This was supposed to be _over_. Everything was supposed to be getting better. I'm supposed to be getting my life back! I feel like all of this should be really obvious, like I'm not paying enough attention to the clues he keeps leaving. How do I have no idea who is doing this? How do none of us have any idea?"

"It's just another bump, Steph. We'll deal with this; we'll figure this out."

"I just…" I threw my hands to my hair and rubbed around. "I need a few minutes to process this all. I'm fine."

* * *

><p>It took me twenty minutes to pack up my shit and load it into Tank's truck.<p>

It took two hours before a team of grungy men in plaid t-shirts, whom Tank had called and communicated with in a language that sounded a little bit like Spanish, but definitely wasn't because I understood absolutely nothing that they said, were able to find and disassemble the bomb, expertly hidden underneath the hood of my car.

It took fifteen minutes to leave my apartment, drive to Haywood, park, ride the elevator to floor seven, and drop off my bags.

It took eight minutes of utter silence in Conference Room B before anyone would say anything.

"He's smarter than we thought," Bobby finally said, staring at the table.

"He's an idiot," Lester countered immediately.

Several questioning glances were thrown his way.

"Chances are he only has a high school education. And his automotive skill is much more elaborate than would have originally been—"

"From the way he delivered the flowers this time, we know that he knows we're watching her apartmen,t and he's an idiot for not backing off when he should have. Before he knew _we_ were involved, he was ignorant to the risks. Now he's just being stupid."

More deafening silence weighed down upon the room.

Hector walked in then, as if he were strolling into a café for some coffee.

"The Brazilians said the placement of the bomb would have taken no less than fifteen minutes," Lester said.

No one else spoke.

He whispered then, drawing out his words and running his hands over his face.

"It's not possible. It's not even _possible_. When would he have had access to her car for that long without one of us being around, without showing up on the cameras?"

"It couldn't have been done at the apartment unless he tampered with the feed, but he didn't. Our time stamps would have been off and they aren't."

"_Fuck_," Lester moaned.

More quiet stung our ears.

My eyes searched around for some solace, someone I could count on for sanity.

Everyone continued to stare at nothing, masked safely behind their stoic faces, heavy with thoughts.

I caught sight of my reflection in the adjacent window:

_Solace._

_Sanity._

_I can do this._

"What now?" Bobby asked, startling me, directing his question towards Tank.

Tank sat for a moment, immobile, continuing to stare, before he stood lithely and left the room.

"Where's he going?" I asked allowed.

No one answered.

Only Hector, sitting back with a stoic face and crossed arms, met my eyes.

He shrugged.

* * *

><p>"I don't even want to <em>go<em> anymore," Lester complained, unbuttoning one more button on his dress shirt with one hand and driving with the other.

It was Saturday night and we were on our way to Liz's art... thing for... the children?

We were headed there, and although neither of us had really recovered from the events from a few days ago, we had an obligation to fullfill.

Well, Lester had an obligation to Liz. I was going because I was trying to be nice and he promised there would be an open bar.

Tank had returned to the conference room almost a half hour after leaving, which had remained mostly silent since his exit, and announced that we would resume the safety procedures that had initially been in place: I would be living in the building; I was not to leave the building without a Rangeman escort; acute eyes and ears were going to be on top of everything that came even remotely close to me.

"I didn't want to go in the first place. This is your fault."

He nodded.

"I'm sorry I made you go."

I sighed.

"Stop being so negative. Try to have some fun."

"Yeah, I'll get right on that," he muttered sarcastically.

"Ups and downs just mean you're alive, Les."

He grinned.

"I got ups and downs, ins and outs, upside-downs, all for you, Beautiful."

"_Really_? You go from totally depressed to totally disgusting in less than 5 seconds? How does your conscience even let you get away saying things like that if you're in a relationship?"

"I'm sure Liz would make an exception for _you_."

"You're a pig. Quit grinning and drive."


	21. Blackjack

A/N:

Sept 10th, Suicide Prevention Day, means more to me than most days of the year.

Sept. 11th... that's a given.

So, I'm posting this in-between the two. Right now. Because something good needs to happen today.

This one's a little bumpy, but shouldn't elicit too many "tear feelings".

But seriously, what do I know?

I love you all; as readers, as people.

Appreciate this- life. We're all here, right now. Isn't that extraordinary?

* * *

><p>We arrived at the gallery just before seven and walked the parking lot to meet our respective "dates" inside.<p>

Lester was in black, of course: black dress shirt and pants, and black Armani shoes.

"Don't you think those shoes make you look slightly pretentious?" I'd asked him as he beeped the alarm on the SUV.

"Don't you think your sweater makes you look like a nun?"

"Hey! This is a nice sweater!"

"For a nun."

I was dressed in a long-sleeved, V-necked, cashmere, olive sweater, dark rinse jeans, and ballet flats.

I looked… appropriate.

"I didn't want to give the wrong impression."

"And the right impression is that you had some free time away from the convent, right?"

"You're an asshole."

"You started it," he said as we climbed into the vehicle. "I thought you looked nice until you started calling me names." His grin was fake and cheeky.

"Lester, those shoes cost you more than what I pay in rent every month."

"So?"

"So... so, it was a valid question about your big, pretentious feet!"

"So?"

"What do you mean, "So"?!"

He opened the door for me.

"Let's try and have some fun, okay?"

I ran my hand through my hair.

Yeah, because "fun" was right at the top of things I cared about right now.

We immediately spotted Liz and made our way towards her. I suddenly felt very under-dressed. She wore an almost-not-covering-all-the-bare-essentials, scoop necked, red sweater dress and a pair of stupidly tall beige platform pumps.

"Stephanie, I'm so glad that you could make it!" She said, walking brilliantly over to me and throwing her long, tanned arms around me.

I was annoyed with her perfection.

She was lovely and I was standing next to her, like, "Hi. I brushed my teeth before I got here."

I felt like a troll. A short, poofy… nun troll.

"Oh, yeah. Thanks for inviting me. I had no idea you were artistic."

She giggled for an inappropriately long time.

"Oh, I'm not at all. I just manage the gallery."

"Oh!" _I'm so glad I don't feel stupid now, Lester_.

"You know what? I really love that sweater on you. It doesn't at all look like you're trying too hard. I like that you've shown up as yourself."

Her smile made me cringe internally; I couldn't decide if she was trying to make me feel bad, or if this was another one of those word-spew moments she has so often.

"Oh, I always try to be… _myself_?"

Lester cleared his throat to swallow the laugh my shaky sentence invoked.

"Hey, Steph!"

I turned towards the voice behind me, smiling when I saw Dillon holding two flutes of champagne.

"Lester," he said, extending a hand towards Lester, who grasped it tightly.

"Hey, Dillon. How've you been?" Lester asked.

"Can't complain, I suppose," he answered with a smile. "How about you?"

Apparently he'd forgotten that just a few weeks ago the apartment building was engulfed in flames because I lived there.

_Can't complain…_

"I'm swell," Lester said sardonically.

"How've you been, Steph?" Dillon asked, handing me the fluke from his right hand.

"You look so nice," I said, looking at his dark jeans, plum dress shirt, Docs, and blazer. "I've never seen you so dressed up before."

"You always look nice," he said, shrugging.

"Thanks."

"So, you've been good? No more creepy stalker guys?"

I laughed dryly.

"Oh, you know, they're… around."

"Stephanie, is it true that you dated Joe Morelli?" Liz asked in a stage whisper as she handed Lester what appeared to be a Mojito.

I nodded at her.

"Yeah. Why?"

Her face fell in sympathy, as if I was hurt.

"He just walked in," she said, directing my attention to the door.

Just in front of him, waiting for him to come to her side after he'd held the door for her, was a very attractive woman in a navy cocktail dress and sky-high red stilettos.

For a second, just enough time for me to figure out what this meant to me, the world stopped, everything froze.

My heart sank, and I began diagnosing why.

_This was Joe Morelli, a cop I'd loved as best I could, who'd loved me back despite everything we couldn't be for one another. He was my past, had been my present for a long time, and was no longer my future._

A pang of longing shook through me. It wasn't bitter, wasn't really even sad. It was quiet and resounding in small vibrations the way old loves always were.

He saw me then and met my eyes, before throwing his wicked smile in my direction.

I grinned back, and before I knew it, he'd moved to stand in front of me.

"Hey there, Cupcake. Nice sweater," he said, winking.

Lester almost choked on his drink with a bark of laughter.

"Nice hair," I said, noting at the recently trimmed locks; he'd never kept his hair so tamed before.

"I just got back from a job," he said, running his hand over his hair. "It grows back."

"And sweaters come off," I said, unthinkingly.

Joe's smile grew wider while Lester choked on the shrimp he'd just inhaled.

Dillon moved between us and threw his hand forward.

"Detective Morelli, if I'm not mistaken," he said.

Joe grabbed his extended hand.

"You work in Stephanie's building, right? Dillon?"

"That's me," he said. He lowered his hand and then extended it towards Liz. "This is my sister, Elizabeth."

"You can call me Liz," she said, holding her hand out like she wanted him to kiss it.

He didn't. Instead, he tried to awkwardly shake it.

"No, he can't," Lester said. I couldn't tell if he was joking or being serious; his face was stone.

"How are you, Mr. Santos?"

"Doing well, Detective," Lester said, all business now.

I think it was glaringly apparent that Lester was now a Rangeman, standing professionally in front of one of Jersey's finest.

We all sort of stood there uncomfortably, waiting for Joe to introduce the silent woman beside him.

She was lovely; a tall, tan, toned brunette with long hair and thick, shadowy eyelashes over her striking eyes.

"I'm Stephanie," I said, trying to engage her because a.) I was really curious and b.) I couldn't stand the quiet anymore.

"Oh, I know," she said nicely, maturely. "I remember reading about you a while back in the newspapers."

"That's so funny!" Liz said. "You know, I thought of the same thing the first time I met her. She's like an average-looking celebrity!"

I nodded, grinning tight-lipped.

"Joe has told me a lot about you," she said, still being really nice. "It's nice to finally put a face to such a legendary name."

I laughed.

"You been good, Cupcake?" Joe asked, staring at my face, making everyone else in the room disappear. It was a strange sensation; like looking at yourself in the mirror and asking the same question.

I nodded in reply.

"So, are you and—" Joe gestured with one of his hands between Dillon and I, a curiously confused look on his face. His other hand found the stranger woman's waist.

Liz laughed boisterously before I could even shake my head.

"Oh, no! Not at _all_!" she said. "Isn't that just the funniest thing you ever heard?" she asked me.

Dillon looked uncomfortable.

"We're here together," I said, directing my words at Morelli and interrupting Liz's outburst.

It got quiet within our group then.

_Everyone knew… I'd made it abundantly clear… _

This was not a date.

Well, now I was blurring lines to save feelings.

_Sue me._

"Where's the powder room?" Morelli's date asked, probably searching for a way to escape this conversation.

"Oh! I can show you!" Liz said, taking her arm and leading her away.

"Hey! You want another drink, Steph?" Lester asked, taking my flute of champagne and downing the rest of it.

"That was rude," I said.

"It was. Dillon and I are gonna go get you some more."

Dillon caught on a few seconds later.

"Oh, yeah!" he said, also swallowing the rest of his glass and following Lester away.

Morelli watched them walk away, probably waiting for them to be out of ear shot.

"So…" he said. "Not the guy I expected to see you out with."

"We're just friends," I said, comfortable now that I didn't have to play word games. "We're here because Lester is dating Liz. Dillon wouldn't go without a date, so Liz made it impossible for him not to have one," I explained.

"Sounds like a lot of drama," he said, smiling.

"It has been."

"Heard about the explosions," he said. "I would have been there—"

"I knew you were in New York, Joe. Carl let me know."

"Checkin' in on me?" he asked, elbowing me gently with a small smile.

"_I told you where I was!"_

"_And people that saw you around say otherwise," the man said, head in his hands as he sat at the kitchen table._

"_I was working, Joseph."_

"_Bullshit!" the man yelled, standing and suddenly in the woman's face. "Tell me you weren't with him!"_

"_I was doing my job!"_

"_Were you doing your boss?"_

_She slapped the man across the face._

"_What about last week, when you were working late? For three days, I didn't see you, Morelli!"_

"_I was doing my job, Stephanie."_

I smiled and looked at the ground.

"That's okay. I did that, too," he said seriously.

I looked up at him, curious what information about me he'd come across.

"Heard you're living in the Rangeman building," he said, trying to keep his face impassive.

I opened my mouth to justify it, and then slammed it closed because I suddenly remembered that I didn't need to anymore.

His fingers went under my chin and moved it upwards to look at him.

"Also heard your boss is out of town on business," he said, staring at me the way he always had.

I nodded against his hand.

"_How would you even know he hadn't gone and gotten himself killed? You think they'd tell you? He'd just never come back!" the man yelled, "They wouldn't risk letting the world know that The Great Ranger Manoso had been taken down. _Ever_."_

"_He'd make sure I knew."_

_The man shook his head._

"_You don't even know who he is!"_

"_I don't know who _you_ are!"_

"He's okay. I talked to him last week," I lied.

"Good. I'm glad to hear that. So, you guys are…?"

"_You're trying to tell me that sleeping in his bed isn't the same as sleeping with him?"_

"_I didn't fuck him, if that's what you're trying to ask me! He didn't touch me!"_

"_You expect me to believe this shit?"_

"_I expect you to trust me!"_

"_It's not you I don't trust! It's him! He's not a good person, Stephanie!"_

"_He's as good as anyone in this room, Morelli!"_

_The woman tried to walk away, but he grabbed her, turned her around, and trapped her against the wall._

"_Tell me he didn't touch you," the man demanded quietly, pleading._

"_He didn't touch me," she said, lying only enough to spare his feelings._

"_Tell me you didn't want him to." _

_He was close to her face, breathing violently._

_She pulled herself from his grasp and walked away._

"Complicated," I answered.

"Hasn't it always been?" he asked.

I nodded.

"It's getting better."

"You look good, Steph."

"_You can't wear that! You can't honestly think I'd want you to leave the house wearing _that_!"_

"_It's for a distraction job! I'm a waitress! This is the uniform; I have to wear it!"_

"_So, don't go! Quit! You think you go there and he doesn't look at you? Why would you think that's okay? To let another man look at you that way? I hate this."_

"_This is my job," she said, lacing up her thigh-high boots._

"_Is it more important than we are, Stephanie? Priorities. What do you value right now? Your job there, or your life with me?"_

"_That's not fair."_

_The man strode to her and grabbed the hem of the woman's revealing skirt._

"This_ isn't fair."_

"You do, too. You look really happy."

He nodded and smiled.

"I think I am."

"Good."

"She's good for you? She seems really nice."

"She is. She keeps me grounded."

"_Do you love him?"_

"_Why would you ask me that?"_

"_Do you love him?"_

"_Stop that! This is not fair!" The woman's face was wet with tears, her body nestled in a corner on the ground._

_The man sat on the couch, his head in his hands, his face bearing similar hot treks, the result of crying._

"_Do you love him?" the man whispered. "You won't tell me you love me. Is that why, Stephanie? You won't tell me because you know I'm not the only one?"_

"_Stop it, Joseph."_

"Joe?" The woman came up beside him. "Did you want to look at the artwork?"

He smiled at her, more purely than I'd seen him smile in a long time.

"Yeah. It was really great seeing you, Steph."

I nodded.

"Nice to meet you," I waved at her.

She waved her hand.

"You as well."

* * *

><p>I was okay.<p>

I loved Joe, in the way a woman who truly loves never loses sight of someone they'd loved before, but it was over. And I felt that.

And that was really empowering.

"So, can you do me a favor?"

I heard Liz's voice behind me and turned to find her staring at the same piece of art I'd been admiring—a great piece, purples, blues, a streak of green. The canvas was titled, "Uncarved".

"Uh, sure," I said, unsure of what she could possibly want from me.

"Could you, like, not fuck my brother or anything tonight? I think that would be really weird for me and Lester. We're kind of having a dry spell, and I wouldn't want that to—"

"Excuse me?!"

"I mean, I know you and him have some sort of thing going on and that you find him really attractive or something, but I thought about it and—"

"Liz, you're way off base, I—"

"I mean, that guy you fuck sometimes, your boss? He kills people all the time and I really don't want Dilly getting caught up in something like that just because you can't control yourself."

I was dumbstruck; what are you supposed to say to someone who thinks you want to sleep with her brother, tells you not to, and blames her reasoning on her own sex life with one of your best friends and on you having sex with someone who you aren't currently having sex with?

"Elizabeth, I came here as Dillon's friend. I'm not going to sleep with him."

"What, he isn't good enough for you?"

This chick wasn't a few cards short of a deck; she was the few cards _missing_. There was a lot not right about this conversation.

"That's not it, I'm just… Maybe we should find the men. I bet they're missing us by now."

"Look, Stephanie," she said, grabbing my arm. For about thirty seconds she stood there, clenching my arm, and I was afraid of her. There was something wrong about her eyes, the gloss, the depth. It was like I wasn't looking at her anymore, as if she were someone else entirely. "This isn't a game. You need to leave him alone. I'm trying to do us all a favor here, okay?"

I stared at her and then my eyes darted left and right.

Was I going to have to beat this bitch down? I wasn't sure I was prepared to do that.

And then… she broke into tears.

"I'm just so afraid that things with me and L-Lester aren't going to work out. He's such a great guy and I'm afraid that if he sees things with you and Dilly going so well, he's going to want something better from me and I-I just c-can't right now, you know?"

I nodded slowly.

"Dillon and I can hold off on our… intimacy," I said, playing along with the voices in her head.

"Oh!" she hugged me. "I'm so glad we can stay friends!"

"Is everything okay?" Dillon asked from behind me, causing me to jump in Liz's arms.

She dropped her arms and we both turned to see Lester and Dillon.

"Everything's great," she said, embracing Lester.

I nodded, looking at her from the corner of my eye.

"Yeah," I said. "Everything's fine."

* * *

><p>AN:

Is it ever what you think it is? Best stick around for next chapter. I wouldn't normally push it, but... something I've been waiting for finally happens. Oh, and the chapter after that? Something else I've been waiting for to happen finally happens.

Excited?

I know!

Out of town this weekend, but I'll be back on here soon!

Be nice to people today, guys. It's worth it.

Yeah? Yeah.


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